


in the heat of battle

by littlereyofsunlight



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s feels, Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Period Typical Misogyny, Swearing, World War II, don't smoke kids even if Peggy does it, period-typical cigarette use, taking liberties with the canon re: Peggy’s bullet wounds, there's a lot of stiff upper lip-ing through the heavy feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlereyofsunlight/pseuds/littlereyofsunlight
Summary: Peggy Carter has always been a fighter.





	1. at that hour I wait for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sorry, Agent Carter. We might be stuck like this for a little bit."
> 
> Peggy huffed and shifted her torso, quite aware of how they were pressed together. "Lucky for us it's just the one sniper, I suppose."
> 
> Steve's mouth quirked into a smile as he looked down at her, "I could think of worse ways to spend my day." 
> 
> She'd slap him for his impertinence if he wasn't blushing so prettily just from saying it. That and she'd rather not get shot in the hand if she could help it.

April 1944, Italy

Another bullet whistled by Peggy's head as she and Steve crouched for cover behind his shield in a rather inadequate copse of scrawny trees. 

"Do you think Sergeant Barnes might do us the favor of taking out that blasted Jerry any time soon?" Peggy asked through grit teeth, pressing closer against Steve's side. His arms were wrapped around her and braced on the shield in front of both of them. She'd tucked her head snugly into his chest. Their legs were hopelessly tangled, but somehow they kept themselves upright. The brush provided adequate coverage at their feet, but left the top of the shield partially exposed. 

Steve peeked over the edge of the shield and another shot whizzed past. Peggy's nails dug into his forearm and she hissed out a tense breath.

"He must've gotten caught up helping the rest of the team." Barnes and the rest of the Commandos had gone around the back of the manor the Nazis were using as a base to take the troops by surprise while Peggy and Steve had volunteered to create a diversion at the front of the long drive, where a guard tower had been erected. Peggy had shot the two men on the ground, but she and Steve had been surprised by a small team arriving back at post before they could take out the sniper in the tower. Now he was the last obstacle keeping them from providing reinforcements. "Sorry, Agent Carter. We might be stuck like this for a little bit."

Peggy huffed and shifted her torso, quite aware of how they were pressed together. "Lucky for us it's just the one sniper, I suppose."

Steve's mouth quirked into a smile as he looked down at her, "I could think of worse ways to spend my day." 

She'd slap him for his impertinence if he wasn't blushing so prettily just from saying it. That and she'd rather not get shot in the hand if she could help it.

"Yes, well, lucky for you you're not stuck here with Corporal Dugan," Peggy snipped back.

"You're a better conversationalist than Dum Dum," Steve agreed, ignoring the ice in her voice. They were in the field, in the middle of a mission, _they were under fire_ , he should know better than to flirt with her. Still, she supposed no one else was around to hear it, and they had to pass the time somehow…

"I smell quite a lot better, too." Peggy bit her lip as Steve laughed and shook them both. "Steve, don't, you'll make me lose my balance." Her thighs were beginning to burn from the crouch they were in as it was. She leaned further into him.

He tightened his grip on her, shifting the shield so he could wrap an arm firmly around her waist and hold her in place. "Beg pardon, but you do smell good. How do you smell this good after a week out here?"

Peggy shook her head, a wry smile on her face. "A lady never tells."

"Shame. Could teach us all a thing or two. I'm sorry you're stuck with me. I'm afraid I'm not much better than Dugan right now."

The sniper, apparently bored with their lack of movement, fired at the center of the shield. Both Steve and Peggy tensed as it pinged harmlessly off the vibranium.

He didn't actually smell unpleasant, to her surprise. Layered over the sharp, wholesomely male tang of his sweat were notes of gunpowder, engine grease, leather and mint. She looked up into his eyes. "I don't mind so much." He blushed again and looked away. "You know," she continued, "we're lucky indeed it's just us two here."

Steve looked down at her, surprise evident in his face. "Oh?" His voice cracked endearingly on the question and she worked very hard to suppress a smile and the urge to knock him over and kiss him. Adorable as he was, they were still in danger. And on a mission. And expecting backup at any moment, God willing. Best not to press their luck.

"Quite. No one else could fit behind the shield with you." 

Instead of simply blushing as she might have expected, Steve tilted his head and raked his eyes over her in a clear assessment, the smile back on his face. "I dunno, you may be dainty but Morita's pretty compact. He might fit."

Peggy snorted inelegantly at the thought. She'd surpassed 'dainty' back in her teens, bless him. Now she was sturdy, and it allowed her to be the capable agent she was today. "I'll buy the team a round the next time we're in London if you can convince him to test that theory when we return to camp."

He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "Shouldn't be a problem." He jostled the shield with the gesture and their German friend took the opportunity to squeeze off another round at them. It glanced harmlessly off the shield.

Peggy tensed again and her leg was suddenly seized by a muscle cramp. She cried out but cut herself off, stuffing her free hand into her mouth.

"Peg? Did you catch some frag off that last shot?" Steve's eyes roamed wildly over what little of her he could see from his current angle. She shook her head, removed her fist and blew out a breath.

"My bloody leg's cramped up. I have to move it, Steve."

He nodded tightly and looked around. "Right." He inclined his head to the left. "There's a boulder just a few yards over. I'm going to pick you up and run like hell."

"That's your plan?" Peggy grunted.

"Yeah," Steve said breathlessly, shifting the shield for better cover, fitting his shoulder just under her ribs at the same time.

"Good plan." She covered her head with both arms. "Let's go."

He was up and running flat-out before she'd finished, with her rucked up in a half-fireman's carry, the shield blocking all of her but leaving Steve's head and legs exposed as he zig-zagged his way over to their new shelter. Shots bit into the ground, narrowly missing them. Peggy could see them impacting the mossy terrain, throwing up little flumes of dirt at Steve's heels. The sniper was fast and accurate, but Captain America was faster.

He leapt over the rock with catlike grace and settled Peggy gently on the ground, where she immediately stretched out her leg, digging into the stiff muscle with her thumbs. Steve crouched above her, shielding her body with his own.

“You okay, Agent?” He checked sightlines around the rock. Luckily, there was a shallow depression in the ground on this side, providing more than adequate cover for the two of them. The sniper fired one more shot, but it only hit the boulder with a dull sound. Steve moved from over Peggy onto the ground beside her, but kept his ear cocked, listening for any advancing footsteps. 

“Oooh,” Peggy groaned, working the unforgiving knot in her leg. “I’ll be fine. Wish I could walk it off, but this is much better than the alternative.”

Steve stretched out a gloved hand, “May I?”

Peggy nodded, grinding her molars together. It had been a grueling week. She and the Commandos had been away for over a fortnight, tracking a band of Hydra soldiers through the Italian Alps, hoping to capture at least one alive before he could bite down on his bloody cyanide pill and escape interrogation. This base could very well be their last chance before they had to turn tail and rendezvous with Colonel Phillips back at the main camp: their supplies were running low and they kept skirting dangerous territory, engaging in more and more skirmishes with Axis troops while they pursued their quarry. 

She was, to be quite frank, exhausted and ready for just a few hours off duty, to properly clean herself and grab a quick nap on a real cot, instead of a patch of rocky terrain. The boys had all been extremely conscientious of the woman agent in their midst, so she’d always had enough to eat and first choice when it came to sleeping arrangements around the fire, but the field was still the field. Peggy could keep up with the best of soldiers, to be sure, but she was first and foremost an intelligence agent. To say this was not her preferred milieu would be an understatement.

Steve’s hands were warm and his touch firm as he inspected the spasming muscle in her thigh. She hissed as he dug in with his fingertips, but it was a good pain. He stroked in circular motions and little by little the cramp eased.

“You are quite good at that,” she remarked.

Steve flushed. “I wasn’t often good for much, before the serum, but my hands were pretty steady. Bucky worked plenty of odd jobs in the neighborhood that left him sore and hurting. It was one of the few ways I could reliably contribute, once we got our own place.”

Peggy eyed him. “You two are very close, aren’t you?”

Steve gave her thigh a final, lingering rub and hunkered back against the boulder. “Sure. Buck’s been there for me almost from the very beginning. He’s practically family. I was sick a lot, growing up. And when I wasn’t sick, I was mouthing off to all the wrong people. He stuck by me, propped me up, took a lotta punches meant for me. And then, when Ma passed…” He trailed off, looking at his hands in his lap, “well, even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”

“You do seem to inspire a rather rabid strain of loyalty. Any one of the Commandos would follow you blind into hell. Erskine fought tooth and nail to get you into his program. Even Howard bloody Stark is gaga over you, spends far too much time perfecting weapons for your whole team.” Steve turned wide, guileless eyes to her face. “According to Colonel Phillips, of course.”

“And what about you, Agent Carter?” His gaze was forthright, assessing. The very air around them seemed to change.

It was Peggy’s turn to look away, as she couldn’t help the answer that came tumbling out of her mouth. “I’m afraid I’m not immune to it, either. The row Phillips and I got into when Stark returned me to camp that night in Azzano…” She smiled a little. “He threatened to pack me up and send me back to Bletchley, you know. I think he truly meant it.” Philips often groused about sending her back to Bletchley, but as it was he who’d handpicked her from among her entire class of SOE trainees, it was typically benign.

“What made him change his mind?”

“Oh,” she said airily, “my rather impassioned defense of your abilities. The good Colonel may have a bit of a soft spot when it comes to me yelling. I don’t do it all that often, and he knows well enough to heed when I’m in a pique.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mmmm,” Peggy hummed an affirmative, tentatively stretching and flexing her leg, finally chasing away the ghost of his hands on her body. 

“Bletchley, huh?” 

Before she could answer, they both heard a twig snap some yards beyond their hiding spot, back in the direction they’d come from.

“Now who do you think’s come to call?” Peggy murmured, locking eyes with Steve. He put a finger to his lips, then gestured vaguely to the left with his sidearm while jutting his chin in her direction. Hopefully he would draw focus and she could get off a shot if it was, in fact, an unfriendly out there.

Steve tucked and rolled out from behind the rock, then sprang up into a crouch facing the interloper. As Peggy boosted herself over the top of their shelter, Steve called out, “Don’t shoot!”

It was Jones, eyes wild, hands out in front of him. “Cap, Carter, thank God. Come quick.” And he turned and ran.

They were all already tearing back towards the manor house before Peggy had the presence of mind to ask, “Who is it?” From the look on Gabe’s face, though, she thought she already knew.

Before Jones could answer, Steve had outstripped the both of them, his legs a blur of motion.

“Barnes.” Peggy said.

Jones panted alongside her. “Got surprised by that sniper at the end of the lane.”

“Blast,” Peggy cursed, knowing how this would play out if, God forbid, Barnes had more than a scratch on him. Steve already held himself accountable for Erskine’s death, and the soldiers who didn’t make it out of the Hydra factory he’d single-handedly stormed. 

Barnes was already being thoroughly checked over by Steve when Peggy and Gabe caught up. 

“Aw, Steve, come on. It’s just a graze. Coulda been a lot worse, but the bastard had shit aim.” Bucky was propped up against a few sacks of flour, scowling at the indignity of his CO and best friend examining him for anything Morita might have missed.

Satisfied, Steve sat back on his heels. “Let me guess, Buck, if it had been you in the tower and him on the ground, he wouldn’t have seen it coming, right?”

Bucky coughed wetly and grimaced as the movement pulled at the wound in his side. “Don’t sass me. He’s still dead and I’m just fine. It all worked out.”

As Steve ducked to give Bucky a sip of water, Morita caught Peggy’s eye over their heads and nodded towards the door. She gave a curt nod in return.

“We’re so very glad you’re all right, Sergeant Barnes. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to radio in to HQ.” Excuse made, she walked brusquely out of the room, Morita trailing after. Once they were a fair distance down the hallway, near the kitchen, she rounded on Jim. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “Far as I know, it went down like he said. But it wasn’t a graze, that wound was through-and-through when I looked at it outside. I applied pressure, we carried him in here and by the time I look again,” Jim paused, casting a glance around before he continued, “he’d already begun to heal. I wouldn’t have known what I was looking at, except…” He shrugged again.

She caught his meaning, all right. “Except you’ve seen in before.” A nod. “With Steve.” Another. “Well, that’s something.”

Morita blew out a sigh and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “What do you want to do about it?”

Peggy shook her head. “I don’t know if there’s anything to do but be thankful this worked out in our favor. I imagine, if I were to report the incident you describe to the higher-ups, taking into consideration the Sergeant’s ordeal in the Hydra camp some months back, they would recall him immediately for further testing.” She bit her lip, considering the ramifications. “That would drive Steve crazy, and break up the best special operations team the Allied Forces have. Best to report the story Bucky’s telling, and keep a careful eye on him.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders. “I really must report in, Morita. Would you kindly set up the comm unit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to include this disclaimer:  
> 1\. This story is endgame Steve/Peggy, period.  
> 2\. Bucky features heavily.  
> 3\. But really, it's all about Peggy.


	2. my feet are firm upon the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After this is over,”—and wasn’t that everyone’s favorite pastime, here in relative safety, playing After the War as though one could even pretend to make plans for a life, as though this blasted conflict hasn’t already completely changed everything in this world, forever— “if I do get to go home, I think I might like to try life as a country mouse. Find a farmer. Tend some chickens.”
> 
> Peggy smiled, rueful. “I spent some time on a farm, in occupied France.” She took another drag, exhaled the smoke slowly. “Chickens aren’t for me.”

April 1945, London

There was a pall over the base. The better the Allies did, somehow, the giddy, expectant feeling that they were nearly done, at least with the Germans and with Italy, a feeling that had begun to creep back over the city after the liberation of Paris, didn’t reach the underground bunker in London where Peggy had been recalled. The reports coming in from Buchenwald and Belsen certainly had their effect, and Peggy was shocked to see Phillips nearly despondent after he’d first read the telegram announcing Roosevelt’s death, even though he eventually carried on in his gruff manner. Peggy, for her part, thought she was bearing up remarkably well, all things considered. But she still wasn’t sleeping much and she’d long since given up trying to camouflage the deep circles under her eyes.

Still, she’d made excellent progress today on the mountain of paperwork she’d returned to. Lorraine came over to share a cigarette out of her rations, something all the girls had taken to doing with Peggy since she had returned. Peggy was fine, truly, though she did appreciate it all the same. 

“I could use a little fresh air, how about you?”

Peggy snapped shut the folder she’d been working in. “Brilliant.” 

They took a walk around the building. A bank of thunderheads was rolling in from the east, but for now the rain held off and they could bask in a bit of watery late afternoon sunshine. As they passed the cigarette between them Lorraine was friendly, if chatty. 

“You know, back home it would be hot and humid already. I didn’t realize I’d come to appreciate dreary weather so much.”

“It may not be very cheery, but it is predictable,” Peggy agreed.

“Has London always been home for you?” 

“I lived nearby as a child, but not in the city proper. Since the war, I’ve moved all around, of course.”

Lorraine nodded. “I was grateful to be posted here in the city after training. Being on the move at all times does not suit me.” She looked at Peggy. “I don’t have your skill for adaptation.”

It was one of those statements that could have been an insult or high compliment, depending on the person making it. Peggy met Lorraine’s forthright gaze, and decided it was the latter. She demurred, “We’ve all done things that were beyond our imagining only a few years ago, I’m sure.”

Lorraine didn’t press the issue. “After this is over,”—and wasn’t that everyone’s favorite pastime, here in relative safety, playing After the War as though one could even pretend to make plans for a life, as though this blasted conflict hasn’t already completely changed everything in this world, forever— “if I do get to go home, I think I might like to try life as a country mouse. Find a farmer. Tend some chickens.”

Peggy smiled, rueful. “I spent some time on a farm, in occupied France.” She took another drag, exhaled the smoke slowly. “Chickens aren’t for me.”

“I used to love the noise, and all the people.” Lorraine accepted the cigarette from Peggy. “But now every time I hear a siren, I think about a day when I could never hear another one. And I think I could adapt to that just fine.”

They’d arrived back at the front door, just in time to meet Howard Stark coming back in, his arms laden with rolls of drafting paper. 

“Hello, girls,” Howard said, struggling to open the door with everything he had in hand.

“Mr. Stark,” Lorraine greeted him, moving to help with the door. Peggy stubbed out the cigarette on the brick of the building and followed them inside. 

“Thanks for the walk, Carter,” Lorraine tossed over her shoulder as she headed back to her desk.

“You still owe me dinner, Private!” Howard called at her retreating back. She made no indication of having heard him, but he only shrugged and looked back at Peggy. He jerked his head in the direction of the labs. “Glad I caught you. We need to talk.”

Once in his office, Howard locked the door behind them. “Agent Carter, have you read the reports coming in from Torgau?”

Peggy nodded. “I’m familiar with them, though I’ve been focused on the results of Grapeshot since my return.” He nodded and paced the floor in front of her, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands.

“The Reds have something up their sleeve, Peg.” 

“Well, that’s nothing new, Howard,” she retorted. 

He stopped pacing and looked her in the eye. “There’s still Hydra materiel out there.”

That caught her attention. “What have you heard?” While the SSR had of course done everything possible to track down the advanced weapons Schmidt’s forces had produced, some were bound to have slipped through the cracks. That thought was among the many that haunted her sleepless nights.

“There have been references in the reports to the Soviets being highly selective with their prisoners.” Howard resumed his pacing. “You know as well as I that’s unusual on its own.” That was true, the Russian forces tended to act against opponents—even those who had surrendered—with extreme prejudice, a fact the higher-ups admitted was distasteful, but of course not enough so to warrant action against it. Not when the alliance was already so tenuous. “But a closer reading indicates they’re taking prisoner anyone who had any contact with Hydra. To the point of exchanging prisoners with our guys to get who they want.”

Peggy nodded, impatient for him to make his point. 

“Now, because we did agree to some exchanges, and one of the guys we exchanged had spilled his very colorful guts to our guys in interrogation the day before, we know he had contact with at least one escaped Hydra scientist. Recently.” Howard looked at her again, his eyes wide. “He reported that this guy told him there were reinforcements coming from the Alps. That we didn’t get all of ‘em.”

Peggy placed both her hands on the waist-high table in front of her. “I read that report, Howard. That soldier’s account wasn’t deemed credible.” 

“They’re wrong,” Howard said, blowing out a shaky breath. His hands trembled as he crossed to his desk and fished out a flask from under the mess of papers. He took a long pull before he turned back to the papers themselves. “The soldier mentions the man’s name, and I don’t think anyone else caught the significance. He says he spoke to Helmut Fischer, Peggy.” He pawed through the papers, sending several fluttering to the floor in his search.

“Howard.” Peggy bit out his name through clenched teeth. The man was always erratic, but his demeanor of late had taken a turn for the strange. The war was wearing on all of them.

“Fischer is an associate of Werner Reinhardt. He was one of Schmidt’s top men. We crossed paths once, in South America. He was a true believer. And a crafty son of a bitch, pardon my French. If his number two is bragging about having the goods, you better believe they’ve got ‘em.” Howard finally found the report he needed and shoved it at her. “Reinhardt must not reach Hitler. If he has even a tenth of the firepower Hydra had, we will loose all the ground we gained this month, and then some.” Howard sat down heavily in his chair, drinking again from the flask.

Peggy scanned the report and found the name, just as Howard said. But still, there was a manic glint in his eyes she couldn’t quite trust. “Howard, are you sure?”

“Damnit, Carter! I will fight this all the way up to Eisenhower if need be, but I was sure you’d see reason. Time is of the essence, here. The Russians figured it out weeks ago, judging from the reports. They must have their own men searching for him, and they’re beating all the information they can out of their prisoners. You need to take a team, find him before they do, or before Reinhardt makes it to Hilter and stop him.” As Peggy tried to interject, he held up his hand and barreled on. “You, Peggy. You know this group, even if you’ve never been up against Reinhardt himself. You studied them for years. You know how Hydra operates better than any of us.”

“Me? You think I should take the lead on a mission that might turn out to be a fool’s errand, a complete waste of resources? Now I know you’re mad. If you can’t see how that would ruin my credibility, even if there were a team willing to follow a woman into the field. For pity’s sake, Howard, you can’t be that obtuse.” Besides that, Peggy hadn’t been in the field for at least a month. Fieldwork had proven problematic of late. And she was buried in paperwork at the moment, chained to her desk. It was better this way. 

“The Commandos will.” Howard leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He locked his eyes with hers. “They’ll follow you to hell and back. All you need do is ask.”

Peggy stared at him, the truth of his words settling in her stomach like a stone.


	3. look at me across the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was reminded, looking down at him, of when he’d been smaller, though in all the important ways, no less strong. There were barely any echoes of his smaller self in him now: the tuft of hair that stood up from his crown, the line of his nose, the tint of his lips. His graceful hands. He’d carried so much on his birdlike shoulders even then.

April 1944, Italy

 

Aside from that single sniper, the Howlies had done an admirable job clearing the Nazis from their outpost. Intelligence reports had the troupe of Hydra soldiers on course to rendezvous here the next day, so they all settled in, knowing they had the night to themselves. 

That night, Dernier built a huge fire in the house’s great hall. Dugan and Jones caught a few rabbit and several grouse and, after Peggy had outright laughed at Dum Dum’s suggestion she knew the first thing about cooking them, Morita and Monty had rolled up their sleeves and started in, with the injured Barnes overseeing their work propped up in a chair in the corner of the kitchen. Steve hovered nearby, but as he admitted he could hardly boil water, he was of as much assistance as Peggy in the proceedings. Who knew where Dum Dum was off to, but somehow he’d make it back with wine or liquor, because he always did. 

Jacques appeared at Peggy’s elbow, brandishing a deck of cards. Steve perked up. “Poker?”

The Frenchman shook his head. “Ah, I was sinking,” he screwed up his mouth around the English Jones had been teaching him, “zat we play somezing wiz low-air stakes. Go Feesh, I sink you call eet?”

Peggy, watching everything from a safe distance lest someone think she might be available to wash a pot, snorted a laugh into her hand. Steve bit his lip, holding back a smile. 

“Aw, Jackie, that’s a kid’s game,” Bucky whined, his eyes not leaving the birds Monty had pulled from the oven to baste (bless the Italian Alps, there was good olive oil everywhere.) Jacques threw a bewildered glance around the room, but Jones wasn’t there to translate. 

Peggy took pity. “Pour les enfants.”

“Ah!” Jacques threw up his hands in disgust.

“Besides, too much talk in that,” Peggy continued. “You lot need something like slapjack. But the Captain must be the judge, it’s not fair if he plays.” 

Steve pouted in her direction, but his blue eyes were twinkling.

“Your reflexes are too fast,” Peggy shot at him.

“Yeah, Stevie, not to mention you’re too competitive. Nearly broke my hand more’n once playing that game before they made you into Hercules,” Bucky piped up, leaning for the deck. He pointed his chin at the other empty chair. “Jacques,” he said in an exaggerated accent that made the other man grimace, “let’s play some cards.”

Later, as Peggy settled into one of the manor’s bedrooms—the linens were by no means fresh, but it was a far sight better than the previous nights spent bivouacking among the Howlies on rocky terrain—she took out her field notebook and contemplated the right way to code the events of the day. Peggy tapped her pencil against her chin as she ran through the morning’s events. How Steve had slung her over his shoulder, where his hand had steadied her against him as he ran. As she thought about it, she could almost feel the phantom heat of his strong hand on her thigh, working out the muscle cramp. 

An honest-to-God muscle cramp, for pity’s sake. She couldn’t possibly record that, even just for herself. While she further contemplated his strong, warm hands and how they might otherwise find occupation, he surprised her by knocking on her half-open door.

“Hmmm?” She looked up from her musings and flushed immediately. Lucky for her the room was dark, with only a candle on the nightstand casting a flickering light. 

“Just wanted to check in. Watch is all covered for the night but we should be up and ready by oh-five hundred tomorrow, in case our scientist friends are ahead of schedule. I have last watch, so I can wake you if you like.”

Peggy nodded, but Steve remained looming half inside her room.

“Anything else, Captain?”

“No.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh, not really. I just.” He stopped, cleared his throat, shifted his weight between his feet. “We had some close calls out there today. It’s all so—” he shrugged and leaned back out the doorway, casting a furtive glance back down the hall.

“Oh, come in, Steve.”

He edged over to the corner of her bed, considered it for a bit and then gingerly sat down. Peggy tucked away her notebook and sat upright. 

“Are you all right?”

He nodded minutely, looking down at his hands. A moment later, he shook his head and his shoulders crumpled. Like a marionette with cut strings, he folded forward over his knees, his breath rushing out in a sigh or a sob, she wasn’t quite sure. 

Peggy lifted a hand to his shoulder. “We’re all just fine, Steve. Today was a success, in the end.” 

He was shaking, shivering, and it couldn’t have been from the cold. Steve put out more heat than a car engine, on cold nights in the field Peggy knew the Commandos fought over who got to bunk down next to him, and he always gave away his blanket. “Bucky’s fine. He’ll have a nasty scar to shock the ladies with, and a heroic tale to make them swoon, I overheard him telling Jones. If he’s making plans like that already, he’s certainly out of any real danger.” Now she was starting to babble, to her great horror. But she didn’t know what else to do. He was trembling like a leaf and gasping for air, chest tucked to his knees. 

Peggy’s heart clenched and she rose up onto her knees on the pallet beside him, reaching her arms around the considerable span of his shoulders. 

“There now, it’s all right,” she murmured, “I’m here.” She tucked her cheek against the nape of his neck, the short hairs there tickling her ear. 

“Shhhhh,” she breathed, “I’ve got you.” 

Steve blew out a shaky breath and scrubbed at his face with both hands. They came away wet and when he looked at her she could see tears clumping his eyelashes. He stared at her for a long time, looking very much like he wanted to say something, but when he finally opened his mouth, all he got out was “I-” before his face crumpled again and he buried it in his hands.

“Oh, you dear boy,” she said, guiding him further onto the bed and arranging him over her lap, “you don’t have to hold it in.”

Helplessly, he clutched at her hips and snuffled against the blanket between them. Peggy stroked her hands up and down his back, petted and smoothed his hair, letting him cry it out. She was reminded, looking down at him, of when he’d been smaller, though in all the important ways, no less strong. There were barely any echoes of his smaller self in him now: the tuft of hair that stood up from his crown, the line of his nose, the tint of his lips. His graceful hands. He’d carried so much on his birdlike shoulders even then. She could hardly fathom the weight he carried now. He leaned into her embrace and breathed a bit easier. Gradually, the tremors subsided. Peggy could feel his heartbeat thundering through his chest. His bicep, when she smoothed her palm across it, twitched and tensed, reminding her of a racehorse at the gate. 

“There, now,” she said when the storm seemed to have passed, “you just rest. We’ve all had a very long day.” 

Steve yawned and mumbled something, muffled against her thigh.

“I’ll wake you for watch,” she assured him.


	4. I am going to conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this mission, trying to keep Werner Reinhardt from reviving Hydra or joining his resources with Hitler’s, the sense of purpose kept them all going. Chasing these Hydra agents had Peggy feeling like they were on the cusp of something, though she was hard-pressed to articulate what.

April 1945, Belgium

 

Peggy squeezed her eyelids tighter and tried to breathe, the radio static still crackling in her ears. 

In the nearly two months since Steve’s death, she’d awoken every single night in the middle of a dream that they were still communicating. She was still trying to get him to tell his coordinates, his voice always hopeless and broken, the radio always, always cutting off in static in the middle of something he was trying to say to her. Sometimes she was in the Hydra base, cold wind and stinging snow blowing in through broken windows. Sometimes she was on the observation deck of the facility in Brooklyn where tiny Steve had gone into the machine. Sometimes she was in a command tent in the field, sitting behind Phillips’s desk. In those dreams, she was alone with the radio, like she had been that day. 

But sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, she was on her little cot in that villa in northern Italy, with Steve crying in her lap through the static. She could never see his face in this dream, however much she pulled and cajoled. 

She wasn’t there, Peggy reminded herself. When she opened her eyes, she would see the hayloft she and several of the Commandos had bunked down in just outside of Luzein. She told herself that she, Morita, Falsworth and Dugan were on the trail of a cabal of Hydra scientists who had escaped capture in the Alps and, according to intelligence a prisoner had supplied, were headed back to Hitler to hand over Schmidt’s technology to the greater Nazi forces. If the Russians didn't intercept them first, of course. 

Steve was gone. Peggy was here, leading his men in his place, at least for this one mission. He was gone, and she was here. 

There was a part of her that hoped, each night before the static filled her head, to find herself on that cot in the dream. It was sick and twisted, to wish to see the man she loved fall to pieces. But it was the only one in which she could see him. She could hold him and pet his hair and pretend, if only for a few moments, that there was still life in his limbs. That the heat from his skin seeped into hers as he cried in her lap. In that dream, that nightmare, she could feel him still.

She knew it was wrong, to wish for a nightmare to never end. But between the waking horrors of war and what she had, sometimes, waiting for her at night, Peggy thought she might just choose the nightmare, and hold him a little longer.

Dum Dum snored on in his corner, so Peggy knew it was sometime past three, since he’d had second watch that night. She groaned a little as she stretched, and risked opening one eye. A scrawny, half-bald rooster gazed down at her balefully from his perch on the rafter above her before he puffed up his chest, stretched out his neck and began to crow. 

“Anyone fancy chicken for breakfast?” Monty grumbled from beneath his beret. 

Peggy rolled over and wiped the sand from her eyes while Jim chuckled. As the bird crowed again, Dum Dum knocked it off its perch with a well-aimed throw of his beloved bowler hat. Monty tossed her a stale biscuit and a wink, then made for the ladder. “Boots on the road in twenty minutes, lads!” 

Peggy reached for the kerchief she’d slept in, quickly dismissing any chance of getting to the farm’s finicky water pump before any of the other men. She’d just have to hope for a better situation wherever they bunked that evening. So much for always smelling better than the Commandos. Her heart clenched as she considered how Steve might have teased her about it. 

The day’s march was long, the weather unseasonably warm, just like the day before. They were drawing closer to what they knew to be a rendezvous point, but in order to avoid detection, they’d had to go on foot, often mixing with the flood of refugees. Stark had supplied their unit with a discreet comms set that could be divided up between three rucksacks. Each night, they radioed in to Jones, who was laid up back in France convalescing from a messy gunshot wound to the leg. He had refused to ship back home until “they’d finished this for Cap and Sarge.” Dernier had been loaned out to another specialized unit in need of a demolitions man, but he was checking in with Gabe regularly, too. They’d all be together again after this mission, though no one could say where any of them might be headed next. Or when they might be done fighting this blasted war. Done chasing down the many heads Schmidt’s organization had managed to sprout. Done facing death and worse. 

Peggy passed her hand over her eyes as they trudged on. The men had all been subdued since even before Steve’s plane had gone down—truly, none of them were the same since Barnes had been lost—but with this mission, trying to keep Werner Reinhardt from reviving Hydra or joining his resources with Hitler’s, the sense of purpose kept them all going. Chasing these Hydra agents had Peggy feeling like they were on the cusp of something, though she was hard-pressed to articulate what. She’d brought it up a few nights ago, staring into their little campfire.

“It’s almost like we’re about to finish the job for Buck, isn’t it?” Dugan had mused.

“For Barnes and the Captain,” Monty added, sprawled out and propped up on his elbows.

Morita nodded. “But really for Barnes. Cap signed up for everything, called the plays right til the end. But Bucky, in that factory. What they did to him…” He trailed off and took a sip of his coffee.

Beside her, Monty shivered. The flames cast a wicked shadow over Dugan’s face, reflecting in his flinty eyes. His voice was hard when he spoke, “Those sick bastards.” 

Even Peggy felt a chill race up her spine, despite the mild spring night and the warmth of the fire, and she hugged her arms around herself. Monty kicked her boot with his. “We’ll get them, chaps. We will win the day.”

Jim snorted, “Your inspirational speeches leave a little something to be desired.” Monty chuckled.

“Getting them back for Sarge is all the inspiration I need,” Dum Dum muttered, moustache set in a grim line. 

Privately, Peggy agreed with him. Since Steve—since they’d lost him in defeating Schmidt—her thoughts had rarely turned to King and country, to the defense of her home and family, or even, she was ashamed to admit, to carrying on Michael’s legacy. Her thoughts were dark and bloody and came from the wounded animal part of her that wanted vengeance at any cost. Steve may have made his choice, but that didn’t mean other men weren’t culpable. Peggy wanted to run them all to ground and heaven help them when she did.

However she held together for her men, however she kept these base impulses under control enough to see the job done, they were all that drove her now. She met Dugan’s eyes across the campfire and saw her own feral rage reflected back at her. When they caught up to their quarry, she knew he would give them no quarter. Just like her.


	5. say your simple name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy contemplated her coffee for a few quiet moments before he started up again. “You like him?”
> 
> “Beg pardon?” Peggy asked, reluctantly bringing the cup to her lips.
> 
> He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, then back to her before he murmured, “Don’t be like that. I just wanna know. He’s never had a dame like you interested before.”

April 1944, Italy

 

Sure enough, Peggy kept an eye on her watch and didn’t sleep a wink until quarter to two. The room grew cold around them, but Steve’s warmth kept Peggy from shivering. She tried to arrange herself into a comfortable position, careful not to jostle him.

While he was in repose, she could study his finely sculpted features without worrying who might catch her looking. He’d always had such a lovely face, she’d thought so from the moment he caught her eye at camp. She rather liked his strong brow and nose, and the defiant lift of his chin, but she could admit to herself now, in the dead of night with no one to guess her thoughts, that it was his lush mouth that truly captivated her. She’d entertained an unprofessional number of thoughts about that full bottom lip. In the dim light, she traced her gaze over and over it, resolutely not stealing even the feather-light touch she longed for. Peggy knew her attraction to him was, quite honestly, the most inconvenient of fancies a female agent could have. All the same, she couldn’t imagine requesting another assignment to remove herself from temptation. 

Finally, it was time to wake him. She spent nearly five minutes trying to rouse Steve from his sleep—it had been fitful for all but the last thirty minutes, he’d cried out twice for Bucky and once for her during those few restless hours—but eventually he woke. They hadn’t much time together then in the guttering light of a candle all but spent, and even though she’d felt like sandbags had been emptied straight under her eyelids, the look he’d given her on his way out her door had stolen her breath and kept her up for at least another quarter hour. 

Her own sleep was deep and restful. When she woke, it wasn’t Steve but Monty at the jamb, a full hour after their Captain had requested the rest of the company. “Agent Carter, Cap said you’d kept watch for part of the night and we should let you sleep.” She flushed and set about making herself presentable, not sure whether to be annoyed or pleased with Steve’s gesture.

When Peggy came down to the kitchens, she prepared for judgment or scorn or even amusement on any of their faces. She was a woman in the field, and no matter what these men professed to her face, regardless of how long they’d been working together at this point, in most companies, the captain spending a night with their female liaison would have been common knowledge within the hour. 

She hardly found anyone at all, though. Jones and Dugan left after a meager breakfast to scout the perimeter, and Monty had set out for a longer-range assignment once he’d woken her. Most of the others scattered to further canvas the manse’s grounds. A breeze blew through the kitchens from the open door, bringing with it the clean scent of greenery and just a hint of snow from the mountains beyond. It was a clear day, and Peggy hoped the weather would hold until after they’d intercepted their quarry. 

Bucky, the unwilling invalid, had set up at the big, scarred table with a pile of weapons and was lovingly cleaning his own rifle when Peggy set her mug down opposite him. 

“Mornin’, Carter,” he drawled through his teeth, not looking up from the barrel Howard Stark had personally presented to him not two weeks prior.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she returned, taking a sip of tepid coffee, “I’m glad to see you looking well this morning.”

That earned her a quick look from under his dark bangs. “‘M always looking well, Carter, you don’t need to play coy with me.” He bared his teeth in what could easily be mistaken for a grin, still cleaning his weapon. 

“Yesterday you were nearly done in by a Jerry sniper and you know it, so let’s not compare coy at just this moment, hm?” Peggy shot back, her face composed and serene. 

Barnes snorted at that and bent his head back to his work. His hands were sure and steady, and though he’d been ordered to stay behind owing to his injury, she could see no indication of any discomfort, despite the location of his wound. It was further proof of what Jim had told her the night before. Whatever had been done to him in that Hydra factory, James Barnes now had at least one new ability in common with his super soldier best friend.

Peggy contemplated her coffee for a few quiet moments before he started up again. “You like him?”

“Beg pardon?” Peggy asked, reluctantly bringing the cup to her lips.

He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, then back to her before he murmured, “Don’t be like that. I just wanna know. He’s never had a dame like you interested before.”

She sighed and put down her drink. “We met at Fort Lehigh, before…” What were the right words here? “Just, before. Not long after you shipped out, from what I hear.” Barnes nodded at that, all attention on her now. His eyes were a rather startling shade of blue-gray, and though he was very handsome and always popular with other women when there were any to be found, the way he always watched her put Peggy just the slightest off her ease. “Colonel Phillips hadn’t wanted to include him in the program, I’m sure you know. But the doctor, that’s Doctor Erskine, insisted. Threatened to pull out if we didn’t at least give him a chance.”

“Steve didn’t say.”

“Steve doesn’t know, and there’s no need for him to find out. He’d only blame himself for Erskine’s death.” 

“More’n he already does, yeah, I know.”

Peggy met his eyes briefly. “That Atlas tendency of his was present before the procedure, I gather?”

Barnes shrugged, “Sure, he always thought everyone should be doing more to help. Himself in particular, even when he was sickly. High expectations. Not sure how he got those, growing up with me as a best friend,” he shrugged again, a real smile just beginning on his lips, “but that’s Stevie for you.”

“Yes, that sounds right. He pushed himself far past the point others were willing to in the program. It was difficult to see, perhaps, since they all had an advantage over him going in. But,” she pursed her lips, “he just wouldn’t quit. And he didn’t hold it against the other men, him being small, even when it made him a target among some of them. I’d never known someone like that." Peggy allowed herself a small smile. "I found I was pulling for him very early on, despite myself."

He blew out a breath. “So you liked Stevie when he was still little.”

“I think you and I both know he was never truly little.”

Bucky bobbed his head, squinting at his work as he began to reassemble the rifle. “Always had a heart ten sizes too big.”


	6. because i am a soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no way Peggy and the men could let any part of Hydra live on, not if there was something to be done about it.

April 1945, Austria

 

“How am I supposed to pull this one off, Carter? I don’t speak a lick of German.” Dugan took another look over the ridge at the inn situated at the crossroads. 

“I’ll be with you the whole time. We’ll bandage your face, you won’t have to speak a word. Just follow my lead.” Peggy sniped, readying her pack.

“It’s simple, mate,” Monty clapped Dum Dum on the back, “you only need remember the words to Cap’s favorite song–” here Morita chorused in– “”Do as Peggy says!”” They both laughed. Peggy rolled her eyes and Dugan grumbled, but that was the end of that.

With the plan settled, and Falsworth and Morita set up beyond the treeline, watching both roads that ran into the town, she and Dugan set off to beat the Russians to the Hydra operative, Helmut Fischer. Then they’d meet an SSR team wherever the stash of Hydra weaponry was to confiscate it, document everything and transport it back to London. With any luck, they could capture Werner Reinhardt in the process. There was no way they could let any part of Hydra live on, not if there was something to be done about it.

The inn had a small restaurant and bar, so Peggy and Dugan settled in at a table with drinks. Dugan, owing to the bandages that heavily obscured his face, was forced to sip his beer slowly. Eventually he’d drank enough to warrant a trip to the lavatory, and as he left the table, he spared Peggy a wink. She sat tight while he appeared to bumble towards the back. They agreed he’d check out the kitchen, larder and any other room back there, and be able to offer a simple excuse if caught. His accent was hopeless, but they knew most people would give a pass to a wounded man. They only had a vague description of Fischer to go by—dark hair, tall, athletic—but it would have to suffice. 

“Two men in a back room, playing cards, one of ‘em looks about right,” Dugan muttered to Peggy upon his return, “a chef and young kid in the kitchen. Maid taking a break in the laundry.”

Peggy raised her glass to her lips and spoke behind the rim. “Did you catch anything the men said to each other?”

Dugan gave her a look. “That’s the interesting part.” He waited until she set her cup down and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know much German, but I sure can tell the difference between it and Russian.” He raised his eyebrow. “They kept switching back and forth between the two.”

“Yes, yes, you seem to have found him.” Peggy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The effect of your knowing smirk is a bit lost under all that gauze, though.”

“You want to bust in on ‘em now or let him practice his phonetics a bit longer?” Dugan drained the dregs of his beer and signaled for another.

Peggy nodded when the bartender motioned to her empty cup, as well. “Oh, I thought we might let Jim and Monty have a bit of a wallow in the mud puddle we left them in.”

Dum Dum nodded thoughtfully. “Such hardworking boys deserve a rest.”

After a quarter hour, a man with a slight limp and a shock of white-blond hair made his way to the bar from the back rooms. Peggy raised an eyebrow and Dugan nodded before he heaved himself out of his chair and joined the Hydra soldier. He slapped him on the shoulder, motioning for the bartender to pour them another round. Peggy slunk out into the back, scanning the dark hall for any signs of Fischer. 

The maid scuttled out into the hallway in front of Peggy, nearly colliding with her. As they both apologized, the girl saw something over Peggy’s shoulder, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open in shock. 

Peggy cursed inwardly just before she felt the snubbed end of a gun pressing into her back, under her left shoulder blade. The young maid was frozen in front of her until a low voice rasped at her to leave through the back door and pretend nothing had happened. The poor girl ran so fast, she left behind one of her shoes and didn’t stop to retrieve it. Peggy thought that was rather smart of her.

Raspy voice prodded her along the hallway until they came to the spacious, organized kitchen. The cook and her assistant appeared to have vacated, and Peggy was walked straight through to the pantry. The pots and pans and knives were all too far for her to reach quickly, and Peggy couldn’t trust that she’d be able to wrestle his gun away without him getting off a shot and alerting the others. Her assailant instructed her to lift the door covering the root cellar and Peggy complied. Perhaps there were some tools stored down there that could improve her odds. Or perhaps this was how things ended for her. 

She rather doubted it. 

The man prodded her forward again and Peggy descended slowly into the disorienting dark of the cellar. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck; he was staying close. Good. She balled her hands into fists and took another step down, and another, until she stepped not onto another wooden tread but onto packed earth. Taking advantage of their momentary height difference, Peggy reached back and grabbed his wrist, then tucked forward and flipped him neatly over her shoulder, keeping his gun in her grip and disarming him. From the sound of it, he landed atop a few sacks of potatoes. 

Peggy drew the gun on him, barely making out the outline of his prone form as her eyes adjusted to the dim light from above. His head was near her foot so she gave him a sharp kick and then another for good measure. He grunted but stayed down. 

Before she could bind his hands, a figure appeared in the root cellar door, blotting out what little light filtered into the room. “Carter!” Dum Dum hissed from above. “You okay down there?”

Peggy turned to look up at him. “What a surprise, Dugan, you’ve arrived just in time to be no help at all.”

His chuckle floated down to her, “Well, Fritzy up there bought me a drink and you know I can’t—”

However he finished that sentence, Peggy never did think to ask later. She heard a shot from behind, saw a brief flash and felt herself stumble, though she hadn’t taken a step. Dugan started hollering incoherently and raced down the stairs. She turned around to see the German crouched in a fighting stance and when she lunged for him, a burning in her shoulder brought her up short. Dugan launched himself past her and onto the other soldier, wrestling him back down to the ground. Dugan landed two heavy punches in quick succession, knocking him out even before Peggy had realized she’d been shot.

“Gun,” Peggy said, rather dumbly, “he’s got another gun. I took one away but—”

“Carter, where are you hit?” Dugan bound the German’s hands behind his back and patted him down. 

Hands shaking, she began patting her front, searching for an exit wound. The motion made the burning worse, and she cried out, suddenly nauseated. With the prisoner secured, Dugan came back to Peggy’s side.

“Where did he get you?”

Peggy took a deep breath, fighting the urge to retch. She could feel sweat collecting on her brow, clammy in the chill of the cellar. “Shoulder,” she said, gritting her teeth against the pain. She felt him swipe his hand across her back, searching out the wound and trying not to hurt her. 

“Do you feel an exit wound? In the front?” As he asked, he pressed in, inexpertly trying to judge if there was a bullet within.

“No,” she gasped, seeing stars for a moment.

“Are you having any trouble breathing?”

Peggy bit her lip and shook her head.

“Peggy?”

“No.” She cried out again as he set something against her back, the wad of bandages he’d been wearing. “It’s just a graze, right?”

Dugan cursed as he applied pressure, taking her shoulder between his hands. Peggy clawed at the hand on her, eyes going wide at the shock of pain. Her knees buckled, but Dugan held her upright. 

“Fuck,” she managed to say. 

Dugan nodded. “It helps to curse, go on. I think it is just a graze, might be able to stop the worst of the bleeding if we wait a minute.”

Peggy gasped as he pressed harder and whimpered a litany of curses, letting him support her full weight.

“It was stupid of me to turn my back on him.”

“I can’t fucking believe I have to do first aid on you in the dark, Peg.” Dum Dum’s voice was stripped of his usual bravado. “I told ya Morita would have been a better guy for the job.” 

“I should have checked him over for more weapons.”

“It was just a one-shot, some kind of zip gun, maybe. Small caliber, from the look I got.” He pressed harder still and Peggy hissed. “Sorry. Is it him? Is that Fischer?”

“We weren’t exactly in the middle of a conversation when you happened upon us,” she snapped.

“Okay, okay. Another minute or two and I’ll check your bleeding, then we can get out of here and figure out the rest.” Peggy stayed slumped against his bulk, seething. 

Luckily Peggy’s bleeding did slow enough for them to gather themselves, their captives and, with Dugan’s quick thinking, a bottle of schnapps from storage. At Peggy’s dark look, he shrugged, “That wound needs disinfecting and I’m not sacrificing my bourbon for the cause.”

She ground her teeth together but took the bottle and started off down the darkened road, back to the meeting spot. 

Morita took a look at Peggy’s wound but decided it could wait until they went back to the abandoned barn he and Falsworth had scouted out a safe distance from the main road. When they had settled in, he offered Peggy a drink of the schnapps before get set to work on stitching her up. 

Peggy shook her head, “I have it on good authority there’s bourbon in Timothy’s pack.”

Dugan glared at her, but dutifully handed it over. 

They confirmed the man who’d attacked her was indeed Fischer. They separated the Germans and the Commandos set to work on the young soldier first. Peggy kept watch over Fischer, who’d been bound again hand and foot. For the first hour or so, they sat in silence, both stewing, while Peggy recorded the day’s events in her field notebook.

Finally, Fischer began fidgeting, sighing as he stretched against the rope.

Peggy shot him a basilisk look, but Fischer only chuckled. She went back to her notebook, though the throbbing in her shoulder kept her from complete focus on the task at hand.

That, and Fischer’s continued rustling.

Not five minutes had passed before he started chuckling again. When Peggy resolutely ignored him, he began muttering to himself in German.

Peggy didn’t look up, but she did allow herself a small smile. “Ich verstehe Deutsch,” she said.

The throbbing in her shoulder kicked up a notch, but Fischer’s fidgeting ceased, along with his monologue about stupid Americans. She stood up, dusted the straw from her trousers and headed to the other side of the barn. “Also, I’m English,” she continued in German as she passed him.

She looked in on the proceedings with the young blonde soldier. Tears were streaming down his face into the gag that muffled his cries, and it looked as though someone, likely Dugan, had worked him over quite well already. As she watched, the youth nodded his head enthusiastically, and Falsworth reached for the gag. “It’s the truth, I swear it, I swear it,” she heard him sob once he could speak. Over his shoulder, Morita gave Peggy the thumbs up.

She took her time walking the length of the barn back to where Fischer waited. He’d been working at his bonds, but stopped and watched her warily while she made her way back. 

Peggy turned to Dugan’s rucksack, looking for another nip of his booze to dull the ache in her shoulder. As she made a show of rummaging, her back to him, she heard him begin to move once more. This wanker wouldn’t get the chance to get the best of her again today, though. Peggy waited until she heard him stand and take a step towards her—instead of making a run for the door, the utter moron—before she turned on him, gun in hand.

Fischer stopped his advance for only a moment. He regarded her standing there, weapon drawn, and only offered a derisive snort and a sneer, then resumed walking towards her. 

Peggy let him come. When he was nearly an arm’s length away, she quickly switched her grip and smashed him across the face with the butt of her gun. While he was disoriented from the ringing blow, she slammed her boot down on his instep, then brought her knee up into his groin. With each move, her wounds flared with pain, but she only grit her teeth against it and jabbed him twice in the kidney when he doubled over.

He rolled to the ground, groaning. Peggy kicked him a few times for good measure, then put her boot on his neck and took aim at Fischer’s head. “You will tell me where the Hydra weapons are being kept,” she growled. “You will draw me a map to Warner Reinhardt. If I order it, you will lead me there yourself.”

Smirking up at her with bloody teeth, he cursed her and her team, and the whole of the Allied forces. Seeing red, pain screaming through her whole upper body, Peggy removed her boot and kicked him again. 

“I know who you are, Agent.” Helmut Fischer gasped and spat blood. “Captain America’s whore will never learn anything from me.” He grabbed her ankle in both hands but made no move to throw her off. “You will fail in this, just like you failed to save him. Just like he failed to save his sergeant. You will fail, and Hydra will rule the world!”

Peggy pulled the trigger and watched him die.


	7. just one hand of yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walkie at her side crackled to life, Steve's voice coming through over the static. “Agent Carter, we could use reinforcements down here.”
> 
> Peggy gratefully scrambled to her feet, slinging her rifle by its strap over her shoulder and pulling her pistol from under her jacket. She was far more comfortable hand-to-hand, where she could be in the thick of things. 
> 
> “Give ‘em hell, Carter,” Barnes tossed over his shoulder, eye still on the field.
> 
> “You too, Sergeant,” she replied, already out the door and down the narrow hall.

April 1944, Italy

 

The rest of the day passed strangely, in long, tense hours and then a blur of activity some time before sunset, when it became clear that the Hydra team, if they would appear at all, would not arrive until after dark. When Morita radioed in to HQ, their intel still had the team headed to rendezvous with the men the Howlies had encountered yesterday, though there hadn’t been any updates since their last known position. 

Barnes was set up in a front-facing room on the third floor with his rifle, and Peggy took the room across the hall, with a window looking over the rear of the building. She was not as good a shot as Barnes, to be sure, but she was the second-best marksman on the team. The other Commandos had secreted themselves along the outside of the manse, and Steve was up a tree at the end of the main entrance, near the guard tower. 

They all settled in, prepared for a long, dark wait. 

It had been less than an hour, however, when from the trees behind the house Peggy heard Dugan’s low whistle and Dernier’s answering bird call. Peggy didn’t see anything through her scope, but she knew from the signal that the Hydra agents were approaching from the rear. It was likely they’d realized, or at least suspected, the trap that had been laid for them. 

Barnes was at her side not long after they received the signal. “No movement at the front,” he murmured, setting up beside her in the window, “figured this is where the action will be.”

It rankled, just a little, that he hadn’t stayed where he’d been stationed, as if it was a purposeful snub of her abilities. But as they expected to be overmatched man for man, she couldn’t really fault him. He was their best shot. 

“I haven’t seen anything yet,” Peggy replied in an undertone, still focused on the quiet woods in her scope. 

“They’ll be here before long.”

And, indeed, they were. The Commandos allowed the beleaguered twelve-man Hydra contingent to stumble right up to the back gate, such as it was, before they deftly surrounded them on all sides. Bucky fired a warning shot into the ground near the officer’s foot, just before Steve stepped out of the treeline in his full Captain America regalia. 

A few soldiers-or-scientists lowered their weapons and put up their hands, but one of the men started shouting orders. Some others raised their guns, and when one pointed his directly at Steve, Bucky squeezed off a shot to bring him down immediately. Then chaos broke out, with Hydra men running in every direction and the Howlies coming out of the woods to capture—and try not to kill—those attempting to escape. One soldier, barely more than a boy, flung himself to the ground and covered his head. The man who’d been shouting orders took one look at him and shot him in the back. Peggy sucked in a breath, took aim, and felt nothing when she killed the man who’d shot his own soldier. The boy on the ground had curled himself up like a pillbug, clutching his stomach and crying, not that he could be heard over the din. Peggy’s hands shook on her rifle and her heart hammered in her ears as she watched Steve fight his way through to him. Bucky picked off another Hydra soldier who tried to take an opening and muttered something low and angry under his breath while he reloaded. 

Steve picked up the wounded soldier and hurried out of the crush of bodies. He surveyed the melee, and Peggy noted how he noted the position of each man in his regiment. The walkie at her side crackled to life, his voice coming through over the static. “Agent Carter, we could use reinforcements down here.”

Peggy gratefully scrambled to her feet, slinging her rifle by its strap over her shoulder and pulling her pistol from under her jacket. She was far more comfortable hand-to-hand, where she could be in the thick of things. Down there, if she killed a man, it was to keep him from killing her, and she could move straight to the next task keeping her alive. She didn’t even have to watch him fall. She didn’t envy Barnes his station at the sniper post, so removed from the action and yet capable of the most damage. 

“Give ‘em hell, Carter,” Barnes tossed over his shoulder, eye still on the field.

“You too, Sergeant,” she replied, already out the door and down the narrow hall.

When all was said and done, only the wounded young soldier and one Hydra scientist remained alive. Four had taken their cyanide capsules rather than be captured, one had fallen on his own knife in his frantic attempt to flee. Dum Dum had chased one to the edge of a nearby ravine, and the man had slipped and dashed his head on the rocks. Peggy had killed one man, the commander, it turned out. And Barnes had shot three.

After a quick check in with Steve, he disappeared down the long front lane, cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

“Damn, boys, one day after a shot to the gut and Barnes is putting up three more kills and now he’s off on his evening constitutional.” Dum Dum shook his head. “Would that we all had that kinda grit.”

Monty just clapped a hand on Dugan’s shoulder and disappeared back into the house. Jones chuckled, but there was an odd look in his eyes when he said, “Barnes always does this after a scrap, don’t know why you’re surprised.”

In the kitchen, it was a very different scene than it had been the previous evening. In the larder, Dernier stood guard over the scientist. Morita and Steve were with the wounded boy, who they’d laid on the big table. No one had batted an eyelash when Jim had given him a large dose of morphine from their limited supply. They’d cleaned him up and bandaged the wound, but every one of them knew the boy didn’t have a chance, not without a proper surgeon or field hospital. 

Steve laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder when he gave a weak cry of pain, holding him down as he tried to sit up. Peggy bit her lip, hesitating under the lintel when Steve caught her eye, his mouth set in a grim line. The boy scrabbled at Steve’s restraining hand, babbling incoherently, and so Peggy took a quick breath and walked over to the table. She set her hand against his other shoulder and leaned in close, smoothing her other hand across his damp brow. The young soldier shuddered at her touch, but calmed. He looked up into her face with unfocused eyes and whispered something halfway between a prayer and a joke. Then, inclining his head towards Steve, he sighed, “I’m ready” in his native tongue.

Steve and Peggy exchanged a puzzled glance. “Ready for what?” Steve asked in his halting German.

“For you to kill me,” the boy answered, and turned back to Peggy. 

Peggy replied crisply, her accent impeccable, “I hate to disappoint you, but we have no intention of doing any such thing.” 

His eyes focused on her face for just a moment, through the haze of pain and morphine.

“What’s your name?” Peggy asked. 

“Friedrich,” he replied, just before another spasm wracked his thin frame.

“Mmm,” Peggy replied with as much nonchalance as she could, smoothing back his hair again, “mine’s Margaret. I knew a Freddie, back home.” Friedrich met her eyes again, his jaw clenched against the pain. “He was my sweetheart,” she confided, “but we parted ways.” At this, she could feel Steve’s assessing gaze on her, but she kept her attention on the boy. His German comprehension, it seemed, had much improved in the few weeks since Jones had begun teaching him, even if his accent was still a disaster. 

Friedrich gasped and reached up for her hand. “He was a fool to let you go.”

She smiled down at him, “I’m afraid I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.” By now, the boy was shivering violently. “I felt it was my duty to make an active contribution to the war effort. He didn’t agree.”

“If you had stayed behind, I wouldn’t have met you,” Friedrich said through chattering teeth. 

“And that would have been a great shame,” Peggy concurred. Friedrich’s eyes slipped closed. “Are you sleepy, Friedrich?”

Morita stepped up to the table to check his pulse and gave Peggy a quick shake of his head. She continued to hold his hand as his shivering worsened, and then abated, his breath raspy and labored. Steve brought her a chair, and she stayed while Friedrich’s grasp went from clammy to burning. A fever overtook him sometime in the night and he woke again, moaning. Steve had disappeared into the larder with Dugan at that point, but Jones helped her hold the dying soldier down as Morita administered another dose of morphine. As he quieted, he looked up into Peggy’s face again, “I want my mother. Will you fetch my mother?”

Peggy hesitated, but the look on his face provoked her sympathy. “She’s on her way,” she soothed. 

“She is?”

“Yes.” A lie, of course. But she hoped a kind one.

“She’ll be so angry with me. The things I’ve done.” He cried out again, tried to curl himself up.

“She’s your mother. She just wants to hold you, Friedrich. It will be all right.” Peggy was crying freely now, the tears streaming down her face. All the Commandos had long since left the room, giving the boy a respectful distance in his last hours.

“Will she forgive me?”

She nodded vigorously. “She will.”

“God forgive me,” he said to himself, “I want my mother.”

“You’ll see her soon.” 

He gripped her hand harder, closed his eyes tight. “I’ll see her soon.”

With her free hand, Peggy scraped his sweaty hair back off his forehead again, and he let out a sigh.

“I’ll see her soon,” he repeated. 

He didn’t speak again.


	8. like a bolt of phosphorus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her arms and back still ached from the previous night. The wound in her shoulder burned. Morita had had to redo her stitches after she’d torn them and started bleeding again. The men had looked at her warily, though they were exceedingly gentle with her throughout the day. 
> 
> She’d told them exactly what had happened, though it had occurred to her to only tell them Fischer had been killed while he attempted to escape. But she wouldn’t lie to these men. She’d seen them at their worst before. Fair was fair.

April 1945, Austria

 

It took a while to process the scene before her. The dank, gloomy, crowded room, the fetid piles of linen, the trays heaped with wicked-looking instruments. There were manacles hanging under the trough sink on the opposite wall, pools of water—what one hoped was water, anyways—on the concrete floor. In one corner, two gurneys had been overturned, looking almost like an attempt at makeshift cover, but this door had been locked from the outside and all the scientists and staff had been accounted for. 

Reinhardt had been captured, and none of the Hydra weapons here would fall into enemy hands. Now came the painstaking process of searching the complex room by room for intel and materiel. If this first room was an indication, Peggy and the others were in for a long, grimy night. 

Her arms and back still ached from the previous night. The wound in her shoulder burned. Morita had had to redo her stitches after she’d torn them and started bleeding again. The men had looked at her warily, though they were exceedingly gentle with her throughout the day. 

She’d told them exactly what had happened, though it had occurred to her to only tell them Fischer had been killed while he attempted to escape. But she wouldn’t lie to these men. She’d seen them at their worst before. Fair was fair.

Peggy knew what they thought: after she’d been wounded, when Fischer had opened his mouth and spewed forth all that filth, she must have lost it, must not have been in control at all. Some of the others were familiar with that brief, frenzied break with reality, brought on by the stress and trauma of this blasted war. She wasn’t the first among them to push through blinding pain to do something they hadn’t thought themselves capable of. This was war, after all.

But that wasn’t what had happened. Not to Peggy. She’d known what she was doing the entire time. It was far from the first time she’d killed a man. But it was the first time she’d done so with malice in her heart, rather than in defending herself or another. A deed done in cold blood, not the heat of battle. A full day later, she still felt it, the seething rage that had given her a perfect, momentary clarity. She wanted to pull that trigger again and again. It had felt good. It still felt good. 

But just underneath the satisfaction and the still-simmering rage, a little kernel of doubt gnawed at her. 

Peggy swept the beam of her torch into the corners the single overhead light couldn’t reach. A rat darted behind the gurneys and then, strangely, back out the way it had entered. She trained the light over there and made out a bulky shadow just beyond the metal frame. Readjusting her grip on the pistol, she licked her lips and called out, “Come out now and you’ll be taken into custody. No harm will come to you.”

There was the slightest movement, a brief rustle of fabric, and then a hacking cough. She held her ground and repeated herself in German.

The coughing stopped long enough for whomever was back there to stammer out “C-C-Carter” and then resumed with ferocity. 

Internally cursing her insistence on setting off alone to search this wing, Peggy took a few measured steps forward, not lowering her weapon or the torch. The man—it must have been a man from the deep timbre of the voice—struggled to sit up. She made no move to help, even as her mind raced over possible explanations for him knowing her name, and held the gun steady. Her heart was in her throat, beating wildly, but she’d stood down an oncoming car, she’d taken out countless operatives, she’d been shot only last night, she could handle this one man. 

As if on cue, her shoulder began throbbing again, in time with her racing heart. 

The next break in the coughing, after an interminable amount of time, came with a ragged gasp and finally, finally, the man came into view. That was when Peggy dropped her torch, and the shadows fell over his face like a curtain.

“Blast,” she cursed as she fumbled for it. Her hands shook so badly, she dropped it again the moment it was in her grasp. Her sight grew fuzzy around the edges as she stood upright again, and it wasn’t until she’d shakily retrained the beam on his face, just to be sure of what she saw, that she realized her eyes had flooded with tears. 

Though it was a clear hardship, he struggled to his feet, breathing labored, listing dangerously to one side. Still, there was a faint echo of his cocksure nature as he sized her up. 

“Not that I’m complainin’,” Bucky Barnes wheezed, “but I was hoping you’d get here quicker than you did.”

“James?” Peggy whispered. She shook her head a little, trying to make sense of it, as she tucked her sidearm away with a trembling hand. 

He kicked weakly at a corner of his makeshift shelter, enough to create the space to edge out along the wall. As he came into the light, she could see his clothes were in tatters, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. His eyes, as he looked at her, were rimmed with red and his cheeks looked hollow. He was filthy, and injured, his left arm hung at an unnatural angle, and he was sick with something truly nasty, if that cough was anything to go by. But there he was, looking straight at her. 

Bucky leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. “I guess this wasn’t a rescue mission,” he said.

“No.” Her voice sounded strained, she couldn’t mask it, didn’t even try. 

“‘S just my lucky day, then.” He grinned, just a little, then coughed wetly, his face contorting in a grimace.

“We didn’t even know this base was here until last night. We’re here for the Hydra contraband they intended to bring to Hitler.”

“That includes me, then. ‘M guessing you didn’t get a full inventory from your informants.” His lungs rattled with each breath, and Peggy noticed the way his knees shook, just a little, as he tried to keep upright. She should have gone to him, should have helped him limp out of that nightmare room immediately. 

But all she could do was stare. She might have faced down an oncoming car, but this was her first encounter with a ghost.

At that thought, she giggled. Just a little, but it slipped past her lips before she could bite it off. And once he heard her laugh, Bucky chuckled, too, even though it turned into another coughing jag. Even when his laugh died off, she found she could not yet stop. Peggy had the distinct sensation of the room closing in around her, as though everything in her peripheral vision had gone suddenly black. She was doubled over, cackling, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. Her laughter had a manic, brittle edge to it; if she stopped, she wasn’t sure just what she might do next.

Morita walked into the room at that moment. “Carter? I’ve found noth—” He stopped short when he caught sight of Barnes, still coughing. Like that, the entire room came back into sharp focus and Peggy, though still unable to control herself, felt suddenly so tired she might pitch over where she stood. “Barnes?” 

“Jimmy, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Bucky said. Morita shifted from one foot to another, clearly still processing. He shot Peggy a confused look while she attempted to pull herself together.

Bucky smiled. “Don’t worry about Carter, she’s just real excited to see me.” There it was again, that feral edge in his grin, the knife-blade sharpness behind his words. This really was Barnes. He truly was alive.

It must have convinced Morita, too, as he broke into a grin and rushed to Bucky’s side, sliding an arm around the middle of his back. “There’s really no keeping you down, Barnes. I shoulda known we’d see your ugly mug again.” Leaning on Jim, Bucky’s coughing eased a little. 

“Well, someone’s got to keep you chuckleheads in line. We all know Rogers is hopeless without me.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

Jim just raised his eyebrows at Peggy. She bit her lip and tried to ignore the sudden burst of static in her ears, the exhaustion dragging at her limbs. “He needs medical attention,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Best to get him out of this damp.”

Morita nodded, and Peggy led them all out, up a set of stairs and into a clear, moonless night.


	9. your name on my mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He huffed out a laugh and scraped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I was just the right sort of contrary to stick my chin out at ‘em and go do whatever it was anyways.”
> 
> “How’d that work out for you?” she asked, even if she had half an idea. 
> 
> Steve snorted. “I think that was the subject of our first conversation, Agent.”

April 1944, Italy

 

Just before sunrise, Steve found Peggy under the trellis at the side of the house, her arms wrapped around herself to stave off the predawn cold. She stared unseeingly out at the ridge of mountains in the distance.

“You know, I stopped going to Mass after Ma died.” He hunkered down on the tiled patio next to Peggy. “God and I seem to be okay without weekly intercessions from some priest hopped-up on his own tiny bit of power. I don’t miss the incense, or confession, or the hymns so much, except sometimes I do feel like I need the…steadiness, I guess?”

“The comfort of ritual?” Peggy supplied.

He nodded. “That’s it. There’s something safe in knowing what words come next, when you’re gonna kneel and stand and genuflect. We get lots ‘a orders out here but not, as it turns out, a whole lotta direction.”

Peggy wiped at her nose, “The Sentinel of Liberty didn’t seem particularly directionless out there this evening.”

Steve ducked his head, “You’ll be surprised to hear I generally like to be the one making the calls,”—Peggy did laugh a little at that—“but sometimes it is nice to not have to think about it.” He shrugged with one shoulder and gave her a small, self-deprecating look, halfway between a grin and a grimace. “I’m guessing you never have that problem.”

Peggy sucked in a breath, frowning down at her hands. “That’s not it at all,” she started, haltingly, “sometimes it’s rather like I have too many others in my head, giving directions. There was so much expected of me, before the war.” She glanced up at him. “Now I usually go and do the opposite out of spite.”

He barked out a laugh. “You know, I can relate. Before I met you, when I was…” here Steve fidgeted while he searched for the right words, as though it was the first time he’d even spoken about being small now that he wasn’t, “well, before the serum, I had plenny’a people telling me what I wasn’t capable of, all the things I couldn’t do.” He huffed out a laugh and scraped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I was just the right sort of contrary to stick my chin out at ‘em and go do whatever it was anyways.”

“How’d that work out for you?” she asked, even if she had half an idea. 

Steve snorted. “I think that was the subject of our first conversation, Agent.”

Peggy hummed an affirmation, and hugged herself tighter. The slightest hint of pink was beginning to tinge the range to the east. Steve sighed, and shook his head. She could feel it, the moment he decided, a charge in the air between them, just before he reached out and pulled her to him. His arm was strong and warm across her shoulders. She was so tired. She should have pulled away, in case one of the other men came along, but she found herself burrowing into his side.

He propped his chin on her head. “You were so good with that boy tonight.”

Peggy uncurled her arm and cautiously stretched it across his abdomen, tucking herself in closer. He responded with a quick squeeze to her bicep. They sat like that for long minutes, Steve watching the sunrise, Peggy watching the rise and fall of the star on Steve’s chest.

“Sometimes I think about my brother dying alone,” she said.

Steve squeezed her a little tighter.

“I don’t like to imagine him afraid.” She closed her eyes. “But I think he must have been.”

Steve wisely didn’t answer, just wrapped his other arm around her. She could feel a breeze, chilled from the morning dew, drying her tears. The salt tracks itched along her chin. 

“He’s the reason I joined up, you know,” she finally said.

“Your brother?”

She nodded, the material of his uniform scratching pleasantly along her cheek. “Sometimes I think he knew me better than I did, at the time. He pulled strings, got me placed with the SOE back when I was a codebreaker.” She sighed, bringing her hand up to trace a finger along the outline of the star on his chest. “I fought him on it. Freddie and I—” she bit off the thought, tried a different track “—I had a different plan, at the time. One that met with my parents’ approval.”

“Oh,” Steve said, “those expectations you mentioned?”

“The very same. But then when Michael died, everything changed. It was like…” she blew out a breath, “a veil was lifted.”

Steve made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Pun not intended,” she said drily, as he tightened his arms around her. “Things became so clear. I have the skills to be useful, the temperament, the intelligence, the drive. Michael knew that. Somehow I’d forgotten. What was worse was how small I’d folded myself up to fit into the mold that had been prepared for me. And how the man I thought I wanted for a partner couldn’t see it.” 

“He wasn’t up for a change in plan?”

“Freddie was not the sort for spontaneity.” She looked up at him, arching a brow. “He was even less interested in a wife who made the calls.”

Steve shrugged, jostling her a little. “Well, like I said, sometimes it’s nice to have a little direction.” His gaze drifted to her lips.

Peggy noticed. “Would you like some direction now, Captain?”

He nodded. She reached up to smooth her hand over his cheek. She couldn’t quite read the look on his face, a mix of hope and apprehension. He licked his lips unconsciously, the tip of his tongue just barely showing against his full, pink mouth. The line between his brows deepened the longer she said nothing, still considering him. 

Peggy took a deep breath. “I’d very much like for you to kiss me.”

She had hardly finished her sentence before he acted, tugging her even closer and bringing his mouth to hers. The angle was off, her head tilted back unnaturally, but his lips were soft and his hand tentative as he moved it up into the hair at the nape of her neck. A thrill raced through her, even as he broke the kiss and opened his eyes. 

They both exhaled, taking each other in for a moment. Peggy left her hand on his face, brushing her thumb back and forth along the ridge of his cheekbone. The line between Steve’s brows reappeared, just for a moment, then he clenched his jaw and hauled her into his lap, kissing her so insistently it left her breathless. Peggy wound her arms about his neck, slipping her fingers through the short hair at the back of his head, raking her nails against his scalp. Steve let out a groan at that, and she bit his lip in response. 

His hands felt hot against her sides, and she could feel them trembling. At another sound, soft in the back of his throat, she felt quite overcome. She twisted against him and set her knees on either side of his slim hips, all the while continuing to kiss him with a fervor he matched easily. He moved a hand back up into her hair, winding it in the strands that had come loose from her practical, battle-ready chignon. Now it was Peggy’s turn to stifle the noise that rose from her, something low and animalistic, almost a growl, as Steve’s long, blunt fingers dug into her scalp and he put his lips to inventive use at the hinge of her jaw, charting his way up to her ear.

Dimly, she was aware of some noise behind her, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care when Steve returned his full attention to her mouth. That is, until a sharp cough broke through the quiet of the morning.

Steve reared back quite abruptly, sending Peggy off balance so she needed to brace her hands against his broad chest. Behind her, the man chuckled. Barnes. Of course.

Underneath her, Steve went beet red and snatched his hands back. Peggy rolled her shoulders, let out a frustrated sigh, and climbed off his lap. She waited a moment, surreptitiously wiping the corners of her mouth for any stray lipstick, before turning to face him. Steve, the big galoot, stayed sprawled on the tiles, looking wildly back and forth between Peggy and Barnes.

Bucky stood there, that same knife-blade grin from the morning on his face. He waited several beats to speak.

“You two should know better ‘n that. Out in the open.” The smile slid from his face; he clearly wasn’t teasing them. “I coulda been anyone coming up on you, and neither of you idiots noticed.” 

“Buck,” Steve started, over his shock now.

“Steve,” Bucky shot back, “don’t even try to defend it. You wanna make time with our SSR liaison,” that part he practically spat, “go right ahead. But do it indoors. Or at least somewhere hidden. Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You just keep making the dumbest decisions at every turn, how am I supposed to keep you safe if you won’t—”

“Bucky! That’s enough.” Steve was on his feet and standing right in front of Barnes, who swayed slightly, eyes downcast, all the fight gone out of him. “We’re safe here.” He clasped a hand around Bucky’s neck. “You should go get some rest. Have you been wandering all night?” Bucky nodded minutely. 

“I told ya, you gotta stop doing that. You’re worried about me getting killed, but I’m not the one roaming the damn forest on my own for hours. That’s something a fucking idiot would do.” Though his words were harsh, Steve used a gentle tone, speaking softly to Barnes in a way that made Peggy feel suddenly as if she were the one who had intruded. Steve cupped Bucky’s shoulder, pulled him close for a moment, then shoved him in the direction of the doorway. “Get some rest, Sergeant. That’s a damn order.”

Barnes nodded, cowed or maybe just tired enough not to argue, and went. Steve turned back to Peggy.

“Well.”

“He gets like this, after he—” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck “—when we have to fight.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, Peg. I don’t think he really meant anything by it.” Steve took a step closer to her. “What we do is hard on all of us.” His eyes searched her face for understanding, and Peggy felt herself nodding up at him. “It’s hardest on Bucky, I think. He can always see everything.” He shrugged, turning his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, maybe I shoulda made him go home after Azzano…”

Peggy stepped towards him, reaching her hands out and twining her fingers with his. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice.” Steve looked down at her, his blue eyes wide and so, so sad. “For one, I very much doubt he’d have just let you send him home.” She gave him a small, wry smile. “For another, I think it must be better for him, here with friends, knowing he’s making a difference. Knowing he’s giving his all, to protect you.”

Steve nodded and drew her closer. “Thank you.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, with none of the former heat between them. 

When they broke apart, he folded her in a quick hug, his big warm hands sweeping down her back. “I’m sorry he sorta ruined the moment, though.” Peggy stifled a yawn into his shoulder. “I guess I need to send you off to rest, too.”

Peggy nodded, yawning again around a smile. “Don’t give me orders,” she replied.

Steve turned her around and steered her towards the door, hands on her shoulders. “You don’t get to tell me that any more,” he said, “I really am a Captain now.”


	10. they tell you that i have forgotten you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy knew she was probably the last person James wanted to hear the news from, but she found she didn’t trust any of the others not to muck it up.

May 1945, Austria

 

 

Peggy knew she was probably the last person James wanted to hear the news from, but she found she didn’t trust any of the others not to muck it up. 

Jim stayed with him in the bed of one of the trucks, checking over his vitals and doing what he could to stabilize Bucky’s injured arm, and Peggy shooed off the other two Howlies, who had gathered around the truck, looking dazed.

“Dugan, radio this in. Keep it quiet, but make sure Phillips gets the message somehow. He’ll want to meet us at the field hospital.” She turned to Monty. “Have they finished the inventory of everything?” He only shrugged. “Right, well, get on them to hurry up. We’ll want to be on the move, and I don’t like leaving men behind with any of these items. There’s no telling who might come to collect them, now that we’ve arrived.” 

With both men sorted, Peggy turned back to the truck. “How is he?”

“He’s conscious and kinda pissed you weren’t here to rescue him,” came Bucky’s sarcastic reply.

Peggy ignored him and raised an eyebrow at Morita. 

“He’s in rough shape, but stable. We need to get him to a hospital fast, though. I gave him all the penicillin I had on me, but that arm is going to need surgery within the next day or so, if he wants to keep it.” Jim sighed and looked down at Bucky. “I’m sorry, pal, but you should know. They might not be able to save it.” He looked back at Peggy. “He might have pneumonia, from the sound of that cough, that’ll complicate things. He’s underweight…”

Barnes scoffed, but Peggy could see the effort it was taking him just to participate in the conversation.

“He’s underweight and scarred up pretty good.” Jim jumped out of the truck, wiping his hands on a scrap of bandage. He lowered his voice. “Phillips will want to debrief him. It looks like he’s been tortured.” Jim hesitated. “I need to sedate him for the ride, and maybe we should wait until we get him back to base. Do you—I can tell him, though, if you think that’s best.”

Peggy shook her head. “No, Jim, I’ll do it. Why don’t you go see if there were any medical supplies in today’s haul.” Jim squeezed her upper arm as he passed, gratitude plain on his face.

Peggy took care not to jostle James when she hopped up into the truck and sat beside him.

James looked sideways at her through slitted lids. “No need to hover at my bedside, Carter. I swear I’ll stay alive til we get back to base. Then Stevie can hover all he likes.”

“James, I need you to listen to me,” Peggy said, fighting to keep her voice steady. 

“Can it wait? This truck bed is actually pretty comfortable. ‘Least I haven’t seen any rats.” Bucky smirked to himself.

“No, it can’t wait,” she snapped. The man's inability to be serious for a single moment was infuriating.

Barnes finally looked up into her face. Peggy took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“Steve, he…” her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue. She watched Bucky’s face shutter, the light in his eyes dim. 

“Don’t.” He hardly sounded like himself. 

She didn’t hold back the sob that burst from her throat and she dropped her head into her hands, ashamed for him to see her cry. Barnes said nothing more.

  
  


Later, much later, they reached the base. Before they’d even gotten Barnes, silent and withdrawn, unloaded from the transport, Howard burst onto the scene.

“No, no, no, take him to my plane, around back!” He shouted orders at the assembled medical staff and weary members of Peggy’s group. “Hey there Peg, didn’t I tell ya you’d find something good if you went after Reinhardt?” He grinned at her, irrepressible even now. 

Peggy couldn’t muster a response, or even much of a sour look in his direction. She started towards the door, mentally tallying how many reams of paper this particular report would take.

“Carter!” Morita yelled. “He’s asking for you.”

Breath catching in her throat, she turned back.

On the stretcher, a fresh IV in his arm and a pile of blankets tucked around him, Bucky looked small. Young. His eyes were fever-bright, but he held her gaze this time. “I’m ready.” He said, voice low and gravelly. “Please tell me how it happened.”

Peggy nodded once, sharply, then turned to Howard. “You’ve room for another in that plane, I hope?”

Once they were in the air and headed for London, and Morita had performed yet another check of Peggy and Bucky both, she made her way to his side, took a deep breath, bent her head close to his ear and told him everything. Her eyes were dry the whole time, and so were his.

Bucky was subdued as they unloaded him from Stark’s plane. Peggy watched as they wheeled his stretcher across the long expanse of the airst rip, towards a waiting ambulance, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, but somehow, emptier, too. 

  
  


Several days later, Peggy stopped in for her customary visit to Barnes’s recovery room, settling in with a stocking that needed mending. He’d gone through extensive surgery and would likely face more to address the damage to his arm, and was still under heavy sedation, though he tended to burn through it much faster than a man his size was expected to. Peggy and Jim had discretely told Phillips and Stark what they knew of Bucky’s enhancements from his initial captivity, and the doctors had been advised on the accommodations needed in his treatment. It did appear that his quick healing was helping things along considerably, though.

She faltered in her work, thinking of how greatly they’d all failed him. Steve had wanted to search for him, of course, but they’d all convinced him Bucky had been lost. She herself had pleaded with Steve to let Barnes go. How had she phrased it? Allow him the dignity of his choice? Now, knowing how he’d had to endure, the horrors he’d been made to face as a prisoner,  _ again _ . Peggy bit her lip, the guilt churning in her gut. 

At that moment, Bucky whined in his sleep, his head thrashing on the pillow. Peggy stood, but stopped herself from going to him. They’d never been friends. He’d barely tolerated her presence in the field, and done his best to avoid her on the rare occasions they’d all had leave at the same time. He wouldn’t welcome her assistance, especially not now, when he was so vulnerable. 

He was Steve’s best friend, his closest companion since they’d been schoolboys in short pants, and having him back felt somehow worse than when they’d both been gone. But there was something comforting, too, knowing there was someone else who had to learn to live in this world without Steve in it. If she dug too deep under that feeling, she’d hit the vein of ugly possessiveness that fed it. If she couldn’t be where Steve was, if he was anywhere, at least Barnes wasn’t there with him. 

Bucky made another distressed noise, his face contorting as he surfaced from the fog of sedation. Peggy snapped out of her selfish reverie and finally took that step forward, reaching for his good hand with both of hers. She was appalled at her earlier thoughts. They had never been friends, no. But this was a good man. There were people at home—his mother, sisters—waiting for him. He was a hero to so many. Steve included. He may not want her around, but she was damned well going to be there. At least, until he was well enough to kick her out.

“I’m here, James.” She looked into his eyes, still hazy from sleep and drugs and pain. “You’re safe. Don’t fret. I’m here.”

For a moment, his eyes focused on hers, and she could see that he was lucid, then he closed them and turned his face away. 

Peggy stood there for a very long time, not letting go of his hand. He never acknowledged her presence, but he did eventually slip back into sleep, his breathing evening out and the creases at the corners of his eyes going slack. Peggy stayed and watched over him.

  
  



	11. meanwhile I write you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She reached into the pocket where she’d tucked his latest missive, the paper worn soft from all her handling of it. It was six pages long, one for each of the weeks since she’d last seen him. The team was due back at any time today, but Peggy herself was about to leave on an intelligence mission in France. The Howling Commandos weren’t always the most punctual team, and Peggy knew she might miss him entirely. The thought provoked a funny, nervous little swoop in her stomach.

July 1944, Northern France

 

The Howling Commandos’ stay at that villa in the Alps had been fruitful in many ways; they’d gleaned the information they sought from the lone surviving Hydra scientist, and then some, the team had been able to rest and relax somewhat in the idyllic setting once the primary mission had been accomplished, and Peggy herself had never felt more accepted by the men, at least by most of them.

Not to mention, her relationship with Steve.

She’d accompanied him with his team on a few more missions, and they all worked well together. Peggy was grateful to endure a little good-natured ribbing in return for no real guff from any of the men over serving with a woman. It was refreshing. Steve was always professional in dealing with her, but every so often, she caught a smoldering look from him when he thought none of his men were watching. There’d been a few more clandestine meetings, as well, and while they’d yet to escalate their physical relationship, Peggy always walked away on rubbery legs, fully aware of the flush on her cheeks.

He wrote her letters. All the Howling Commandos’ mail was under heavy scrutiny, of course, so he never actually mailed them to her. But sometimes, she’d arrive at her desk the morning after the team had returned from a mission to find a sheaf of papers, each covered front and back in his neat Palmer script. He sketched little scenes for her, a flower or mountain range, once the tiny children of a French farmwife who’d hidden the Howlies in her root cellar. Steve had a real talent, and each drawing was beautifully detailed, but Peggy loved his letters best.

She reached into the pocket where she’d tucked his latest missive, the paper worn soft from all her handling of it. It was six pages long, one for each of the weeks since she’d last seen him. The team was due back at any time today, but Peggy herself was about to leave on an intelligence mission in France. The Howling Commandos weren’t always the most punctual team, and Peggy knew she might miss him entirely. The thought provoked a funny, nervous little swoop in her stomach.

It wasn’t unlike the feeling she’d had earlier in the day, when she’d attended a screening of the footage that had been shot in the field with the Commandos earlier that week. Ostensibly, she’d been there with Colonel Phillips to review whether the reels needed to be censored. The truth of the matter was, she’d had a hard time concentrating on deciding which documents were too legible, or locations too easily discerned, every time Steve’s disconcertingly handsome face was on screen. When the filmmaker had shot his hands skimming over a map, Peggy hadn’t even registered that it was a map. And when it had been revealed that Steve kept a photo of her tucked into his compass, Peggy thought she might combust from the simultaneous joy at that discovery and the embarrassment of realizing every other person in the screening knew of it, too.

She could feel the heat in her cheeks even now just thinking about it, alone in the administrative tent. She was irritated, which was no surprise, but not with Steve. Irrationally, she was angry at the camera operator who’d captured the shot, and the director who’d included it in the footage he wanted to use. And at Phillips. Peggy was angry at Chester Phillips.

At the screening, when Steve’s compass, with her photo, had appeared in the frame, Peggy could feel Phillips look at her, and though she resolutely did not turn her head to see the expression he wore, she had been certain of the annoyance radiating off of him. When they’d returned to the command tent, she’d been prepared to receive a dressing-down for fraternizing with a soldier in their unit, something expressly forbidden. Peggy spent the walk back preparing to defend herself. Her chief point was the claim that Steve hadn’t gotten the photo directly from her, and as far as defenses went, she knew hers was decidedly lacking. And, to be sure, she had engaged in some rather untoward activities with Steve, but they had been discreet in the field and unfailingly professional while on base. Phillips couldn’t possibly have proof of any wrongdoing. So despite her guilt, she was ready to resist any slander of her reputation or punishment for an indiscretion she was sure could not be proved.

Instead, the Colonel took one look at the stony expression on her face and burst into laughter.

“Get off your goddamn high horse, Carter,” he guffawed. “It’s just nice to know you’re not the ice queen you pretend to be.”

“Sir, I—” she started, only to be cut off.

“Can it, I don’t need to know anything more.” He wiped his eyes, looking tired. “I’ve been serving my country for longer than you’ve been alive, I know what young men and women get up to when every day is life and death. Don’t be stupid, keep it quiet, keep it strictly off-duty and I won’t make this entire unit sit through another viewing of the Mickey Mouse movies, you hear me?”

“It’s not what you think, sir,” Peggy managed to say over the blood pounding in her own ears. This was leagues more embarrassing than being yelled at.

Phillips chuckled, “Oh, I know you know well enough to know you’re not about to fall for some dumb soldier, Agent.” He gathered up some papers and his favorite mug. “When you do end it, though, try not to break his heart.” He tugged his watch cap on. “You’ll keep it professional, but who knows how the kid might take it. I couldn’t stand to see Captain America moping around with puppy dog eyes. He’s too damn earnest already.”

Peggy felt smaller than she had in years. “Truly, Colonel, we’re not—”

He stopped on his way out the door. “Carter, I don’t give one goddamn about you blowing off steam with America’s prettiest patriot. Just don’t let it get out of hand. It’s not a subject I want to hear any more about.”

 

That had been the end of the conversation. Peggy had been sitting here on her own for at least an hour, her ire growing. She supposed she should be relieved that Phillips wasn’t about to send her away, stop her from working with the Commandos. She found instead that she was frustrated with the way he’d spoken to her. The way he’d assumed she and Steve were only...blowing off steam.

She’d expected Phillips to think she and Rogers were courting. She’d been prepared to defend her virtue against the rather outdated worldview Phillips held, as well as her ability to maintain focus. Now she felt wrong-footed. He thought they were in the middle of a short-lived fling? And his only request was they be discreet?

“Blowing off steam,” she muttered to herself, rifling through the paperwork on her desk. “As if I’d jeopardize my place here, for what, for a dalliance?”

Phillips had said he didn’t think she was dumb, but his assumption proved otherwise. How dare he insinuate that her interest in Rogers was only sexual attraction.

Still, if it meant he was going to leave them both alone about the whole thing, wasn’t that good news? Peggy groaned and thunked her head onto her desk.

“It can’t have gotten that bad since I’ve been gone.” Steve’s voice cut into her jumbled thoughts and Peggy snapped back upright.

“You’re back!” Suddenly it felt as though light had flooded the dim tent as she looked at Steve, muddy and tired and so clearly only just arrived back at camp. Peggy found she couldn’t keep the silly smile off her face.

He gave her a brilliant smile in return and quickly crossed over to her. “We’re back.” He glanced around the tent and then, satisfied they were alone, leaned over to give her a brief kiss. Peggy hesitated only a moment before leaning in. Maybe Phillips was wrong. Maybe she was stupid over this man. “Boy, do I have some stories for you.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “You’ll have to come up with a pretty good one to top the conversation I just had with Colonel Phillips about VD films.”

“Well, there was this submarine—” Steve started, sitting down in a chair, before her words sunk in. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll have to tell you the whole story later. The gist of it is, the Colonel is onto us. Some of us will have to be a bit more discreet than carrying photos around in field equipment, I’m afraid.”

She felt an overwhelming tenderness for him as she watched the realization and guilt sweep across his face. Steve gaped at her. “Peggy, I’m sorry, I never meant to—”

She held up her hand. “Yes, I know. I should be yelling at you, but I’m due at the airstrip in an hour and I need to take care of some paperwork before then.”

Steve’s face fell. “You have a mission?” He fidgeted with one of the pouches on his belt. “I was hoping we might be able to spend some time together.”

“There’s quite a lot of work to be done if the Allies are going to push through and liberate Paris as planned next month.” Peggy shot him a look. “I’m not only your liaison, Captain. There’s intelligence I need to retrieve. To help win the war.” Suddenly all her anger came roaring back to the surface. “I am here to do the work, like you. And just like you, I am damn good at it. I won’t limit myself, limit the good I can do, just because you and I haven’t had the chance to cuddle in a while.”

He at least looked chagrined. “Of course. I’m only disappointed, is all.” He looked up from beneath his long lashes. “I missed you.”

She rolled her shoulders and released a tense breath. “That’s not fair, Steve,” she said softly. “I missed you, too.”

He looked up at her again, his big blue eyes full of hope. She had missed him, of course. Missed how he had her back, no matter what. Missed the way he watched her closely while she told him a story from one of her missions. Missed the span of his big hands against her waist when he reeled her in for a kiss. Missed finding all the new and inventive ways they could make each other's’ breath come short and heavy, struggling to keep quiet lest they be discovered. She certainly did not miss all the missed opportunities, being sent on separate missions for weeks at a time. Peggy pushed down the urge to go to him, take his face in her hands and kiss him with all she was worth and then take him back to her tent. If she didn’t have to board that plane, she might have.

But this was war, and the work had to come first.

Steve took her hand and squeezed. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s been a long few weeks.” He stood up. “I don’t want to keep you from prepping for duty.” He reached down and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I’m glad I got to see you before you left.”

Peggy tipped her head up and pressed her lips to his. “Me too. Thank you for stopping in.” She smiled up at him. “Straight from the road. Covered in mud.”

Steve looked bashful as he tugged at the neck of his dirty uniform. “Smelling like a barn, yeah, I know. All the others headed straight for the showers, so I knew I’d have to wait anyways. Seemed like a good opportunity to find you.”

“Yes, well, you might have missed me if you’d stopped to wash.” Peggy wrinkled her nose. “Still, next time—”

He laughed and took a step back. “All right, all right.” Steve put his hands up in mock defeat. “Message received, loud and clear. You know, maybe if someone spilled their secrets about how they stay fresh as a daisy on a long assignment, I wouldn’t be offending your delicate sensibilities right now,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, but rifled through her bag and pulled out a compact. She waved it in front of his face. “Top secret, need-to-know information,” she snapped the compact open and showed him the makeup inside, “it’s scented powder, you oaf. Shall I have my mother send some from Harrods for you?”

He was a good sport about it. “Sure,” he shrugged, “maybe order one for each of the Commandos.”

“I’ll be sure to ask her in my next letter,” she replied drily, putting the powder away.

Steve snapped his fingers. “That reminds me!” He turned back to the chair and fished a sheaf of papers out of his jacket pocket. “Special delivery.”

Peggy lunged for them, only remembering herself once she had them in her hands. Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and she could feel herself turn bright red. “I, ah, need some reading material for the flight.” She straightened her jacket, grasping desperately for the shreds of her dignity.

Steve couldn’t hide his delight. “Well, if you like, I’ll have some more ready for you by the time you return.”

“You know, I think I would like that.” She fingered the edges of his latest packet of letters and gave him a heated look. “I’d like that very much.”

To her satisfaction, he couldn’t muster more than an audible gulp in response.


	12. scratch the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The end of this bloody war will create even more paperwork. I’m just trying to catch up.” Peggy shot for a breezy tone, but her voice quavered just a bit near the end. Lorraine couldn’t have missed it.
> 
> “Don’t bury yourself under all this work, Peggy.” Peggy didn’t dare meet her sharp gray eyes, focusing instead on the other woman’s nail varnish. Lorraine almost took a step towards her, but stopped herself when Peggy flinched. Her voice was kind when she spoke next. “Your soldier would have wanted you to celebrate.”

May 1945, London

  
  


“A bunch of the girls are headed down to Piccadilly to join the fun. You should come with us, Carter.” Lorraine’s gaze raked over the towers of paper Peggy had stacked along the front of her desk like a wall. “Even Phillips is knocking off for the rest of the day.”

“The end of this bloody war will create even more paperwork. I’m just trying to catch up.” Peggy shot for a breezy tone, but her voice quavered just a bit near the end. Lorraine couldn’t have missed it.

“Don’t bury yourself under all this work, Peggy.” Peggy didn’t dare meet her sharp gray eyes, focusing instead on the other woman’s nail varnish. Lorraine almost took a step towards her, but stopped herself when Peggy flinched. Her voice was kind when she spoke next. “Your soldier would have wanted you to celebrate.”

Lorraine didn’t stay long after that remark, and Peggy found she couldn’t have come up with her customary cutting response, which she deployed any time anyone on base mentioned Steve, even if she’d wanted to. She sat at her desk, numb, her head ringing with static, while all around her the whole office emptied out. No one else even shouted a casual invite in her direction. 

Eventually, Peggy gave up on even the idea of accomplishing any work. She put on her jacket and stepped out onto the teeming street. She took a left at the corner, intending to head back to her bedsit, but instead she ran straight into Dernier, flanked by the rest of the Howlies. He swore delightedly in French while she righted herself.

“Carter!” Dugan boomed as, one by one, each man swept her up in a hug and passed her on to the next. “We’re headed out to celebrate. Come with us!”

Peggy found herself smiling for the first time that day. Still, she begged off. “I’m no sort of company today, gents.”

She swayed a bit as Dum Dum set her down on her feet. Monty reached out a steadying hand, the look in his eyes full of keen understanding. 

“We’ll drink a toast to him,” Jones said, more somber than the rest.

“And we’ll drink Barnes’s share, since he’s still on the mend!” Dum Dum’s pronouncement was met with a rousing cheer from the others.

It dawned on Peggy what she should do next, instead of mope alone in her room.

“I’m off to see him now, actually. I’ll send him your best.”  
  
  


When she arrived at the hospital, Bucky wasn’t alone.

Howard Stark was directing a nurse carrying a tea tray as Peggy walked in to Barnes's cheery little room on the long-term care ward. 

“You do that so nicely, Sister, I wonder if you’d like to stay for a quick drink with my friend and me here, he hasn’t had a lot of female company lately, and...Peggy!” Howard clapped his hands together. “Nevermind, Sister, looks like the room is going to be a bit crowded if all four of us stay.”

“Thank you, Principal Matron,” Peggy said, noticing the woman’s rank. “I hope Mr. Stark didn’t keep you from more important duties. I’ll make sure he doesn’t hassle any of your staff for the rest of his visit.” Peggy glared across the table at Howard, who only shrugged.

“I’d appreciate it, ma’am,” she replied. “Though the matron on this floor is already under strict instructions to keep the sisters busy with other tasks when  _ he  _ visits.”

The principal matron glared at him too as she took her leave, but threw a wink and a smile over her shoulder at Peggy before she closed the door. Peggy took up a cup to hide her own grin.

She knew enough to know that Howard had just returned from a top-secret meeting in New York. He sat at the tea table and gestured for Peggy to do the same. As she crossed behind him, she noticed he looked and smelled as though he’d been up for days. Still, his very presence filled the room with a crackling energy as his gaze darted expectantly between Peggy and Barnes, who'd yet to say a word from his position on the hospital bed, propped up by a mound of pillows. “I’m glad you’re both here. I have exciting news, and you’re not going to believe it, but just hear me out. I’m chartering a ship and headed to the Arctic Circle. We’ve made great strides in sonar technology these last few years, and I think—no, damnit—I know I can find him. I can find that great hulking plane he went down in, and when I do, I’ll find him.”

Static in her head, and where the warmth of the tea had just spread in her stomach, now she felt a pit of ice begin to form.

“Stark, aren’t you busy with that American project? The one that will win in the Pacific?”

Howard raised an eyebrow at her. “You are definitely not supposed to know about that one, Carter. But no, my expertise is no longer required there.”

In a rusty voice, still recovering from his prolonged illness, Bucky spoke up. “Why now?”

Howard puffed up and again looked back and forth between them, savoring his moment. “I can bring him back. I can bring him back alive.” That manic gleam was back in his eyes, and Peggy mistrusted that he even knew what country he was in at the moment, let alone the harebrained scheme he’d laid out for them. 

“You’re joking.” Peggy slammed her teacup down onto the saucer, provoking a sharp noise from the delicate china. Bucky, from his seat on his hospital bed, cut his eyes in her direction, but otherwise betrayed nothing from behind the bland expression on his face. 

Tense silence filled the room. Outside in the corridor, a pair of sisters passed, talking low but excitedly between them. Somewhere down the ward, someone laughed, and was joined in mirth by a small chorus of voices for a moment. The exuberance of V-E Day reached even into this ward for patients under long-term care, even if it was slightly muted.

Peggy tossed her head and stared Howard down with a look neither man had seen before. 

“Peg, I swear I am not,” he assured her. He couldn’t stay seated at the table, bouncing into the open space at the foot of Bucky’s bed. “We were only at the very start of understanding the effects Erskine’s serum had on Steve’s physiology. But everything I’ve read points to a real possibility of Steve surviving. The fact that Barnes is here is just further proof!”

She threw up her arms and ground her back molars together, jaw clenched tight, “It’s madness, Howard. Barnes didn’t even receive the same treatment, and he was found almost immediately. Steve never gave us his coordinates and we have no way to track the Valkyrie. Even if we knew which sheet of ice in an  _ ocean of ice _ to search, the plane crashed. Even if he made it out of the wreckage, which I  _ will  _ grant you is possible given what we saw from him during the war, then he’d have been stranded, with no shelter, no food, nothing,  _ no one _ …” her voice cracked and she gasped for air, bringing her hand to her mouth as if she could take back the horrifying image she’d just given voice to. She looked away, breathing hard. 

“He did die, Stark,” Bucky’s voice was raspy from his prolonged illness when he took up where Peggy had left off, “hopefully he died on impact. But there’s no way a man could survive for months in that environment. I barely made it through a night in the mountains. I was banged up to hell and even with whatever they gave me, no doctor can tell me if I’ll ever be the same. No way someone’s surviving worse conditions, not for this long.” His fists were balled up in the bed sheets, tension evident in every straining muscle in his arms. It was true, Bucky had changed in profound ways since his rescue. His eyes were sunken in his head and even as he pleaded with Howard, his affect was flat. There was none of the simmering energy that Bucky had always had before. He looked down at his hands for a moment and blinked, as if he was realizing the very same thing. “Not even Steve.” Bucky swiped at his nose and sniffed. “If he was alive, he’d’ve found a way back,” he finished, almost to himself. 

Howard stopped his pacing and nodded at both of them. “If that’s what you need to believe, I don’t blame you.” He scrubbed a hand over his moustache, nodding again. “I need to bring him home to the both of you. That’s what I need to do.” He shrugged, and to her surprise, Peggy could see he was blinking back tears. “That’s what I’m gonna do.” 

Peggy and Bucky watched him stride out of the room.

She let out a groan and dropped her head into her palms. “That bloody man,” she muttered under her breath. Bucky shifted so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed, but Peggy was at his bedside before he could attempt to stand up. She used a firm hand to keep him seated. “I’m sorry he upset you,” she said.

Bucky snorted derisively, but smoothed out the wadded sheets under his hands. “Yeah, well, that’s Stark.” He patted her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “We all gotta come to terms our own ways, I guess. If his involves two weeks of cold and wet, he can keep it. Just like you can keep your stiff upper lip and hair trigger, Carter.”

She flinched, drawing her hand back as if scalded. Bucky gave her a hard look which she couldn’t return, despite her earlier ire at Howard. “You carry all that anger for too long, it’ll end up poisoning you,” Bucky continued.

Peggy kept her eyes focused out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. Out there, people were streaming through the streets, joyous, celebratory. She felt the telltale prickle of tears begin in her sinuses, but held them at bay through sheer force of will. Just underneath, there it was again, the barely contained rage she’d felt when Howard told them his ludicrous plan. She felt it rise in her gorge, felt the heat in her cheeks, in her gut.

“You gonna shoot  _ me _ this time, Peggy?” Bucky asked in a low voice. “There aren’t any Nazis around to take it out on now. No Hydra. Just me.”

Peggy dug her nails into her upper arms and clenched her tongue between her teeth, resolutely not looking at him.

“War’s over, Carter. They’re gonna ship me stateside pretty soon, break up the Commandos, put you on coffee duty in some dusty office. And all that anger’s gonna do is eat you up from the inside out.”

Peggy forced herself to meet his eyes. Despite his firm tone, she could see the concern in his steely gaze, the lines prematurely etched around his downturned mouth. The flatness from before was gone as he looked at her unflinchingly. The difference in his countenance went a long way to quelling her anger.

“Why do you care so much, Barnes?” She asked with far more coolness than she truly felt.

He shrugged, looked away out the window, took his time coming up with the answer. “I guess because we’re the only two people left on this Earth that loved him. I guess maybe we oughta look out for each other, if we can.”

 


	13. my hands accustomed once to powder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gulped. “He knows that I have plans.”
> 
> Heat rushed through Peggy. They didn’t talk about the future, not in their letters or in the moments they were able to steal together. It was enough for her that she had him now, she told herself resolutely any time she caught herself longing for days after the war, entire days with him by her side. She knew all too well the odds of both of them making it out of this alive. There was just no sense wasting their precious little time on dreams.
> 
> Still, when Steve forced himself to look at her again, pink to the tips of his ears, clearly waiting for her response, all Peggy knew was the schoolgirl thrill coursing through her veins. Not knowing what to say, she kissed him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating as I'm choosing to err on the side of caution with this latest update.

September 1944, outside London

 

Steve pulled back, abruptly cutting off their kiss. Peggy caught herself before she voiced the inarticulate snarl of frustration that bubbled up, feeling his body go tense under hers, straining to listen.

“Who will campaign door-to-door for hmmmhmmmhmhm,” she heard Dum Dum outside, horribly off-key.

Peggy chuckled quietly, resting her forehead against Steve’s shoulder. They’d snuck into Steve’s tent in the middle of the day, and there was no telling who might pop by. Still, Peggy had only returned early that morning, they’d been too impatient to wait until the cover of night for their reunion.

Steve gave a happy sigh as he relaxed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She felt his breath against her crown, heard his strong, steady heartbeat in his chest. Neither of them had anywhere they needed to be for the next hour and, though Peggy longed for even more time alone with him, in this moment, she was content.

After this afternoon’s debrief, she was scheduled for a week of leave. Steve wasn’t, but the Commandos had yet to receive their next assignment, so there was still the chance he’d be able to finagle a last minute pass.

She felt Steve toying again with her hair and smiled against his chest. They couldn’t be open about their relationship, but she found she could get used to these clandestine meetings.

So of course that was the moment Barnes chose to visit Steve’s tent. He entered backwards, hand outstretched, leading someone Peggy didn’t catch a glimpse of before Steve sat up and shoved her off the cot. Peggy rolled to her feet while she rolled her eyes. He hardly needed to be so dramatic about it. Still, she turned her back to the entryway to smooth her rumpled blouse all the same.

“Bucky!” Steve hissed, catching his attention before he’d fully entered the tent.

Peggy heard Bucky’s reaction, but she didn’t see him.

“Steve! I thought you were—well, okay. Sorry, pal, I didn’t know you’d be in here.” There was a pause, some low murmuring Peggy couldn’t make out.

She looked over at Steve, raking his fingers through his mussed hair. “Fix your face, too,” she muttered under her breath, knowing Steve could still hear it. He gave her a bewildered look. She sketched her hand around her lips and chin, then pointed at him.

His eyebrows shot up and he started scrubbing at his own mouth. Peggy inspected her reflection in her compact mirror, but it looked like Steve had wound up wearing most of her lipstick. She’d need to reapply, but she wasn’t about to do that just now.

Whoever it was Bucky had intended to spend time with in Steve’s tent took her leave in a bit of a huff, as far as Peggy could tell. Bucky let her go without any protest, though.

To Peggy’s dismay, he let himself back into the tent. “Well, now I can keep the extra rations I won off ‘a Dum Dum,” he said brightly, throwing himself down into the camp chair opposite Steve’s desk with little care for how it creaked under the sudden weight.

Peggy looked over at Steve just as Bucky did, and she could tell Steve didn’t quite know where to look. The moment stretched between them, awkward and tense, while Steve’s ears turned an alarming shade of red.

“So, Carter,” Bucky addressed her now as he pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and stuck it into the corner of his mouth, “any truth to the whispers that the Howlies are heading to the Netherlands?”

Peggy blinked slowly at him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant.”

“Aw, come on.” He slouched even lower into the chair, getting into the part he’d decided to play while Steve worked through whatever was eating at him. “A little bird—who might or might not have had a French accent, I’m not sayin’ either way—mentioned something called Market Garden. And, I dunno—“ he rubbed his chin in a pantomime of thoughtfulness as Peggy unsuccessfully tried not to grind her molars together—“sounded like it could be fun.”

“Buck,” Steve said, a low tone of warning in his voice. “We’ve talked about this.”

Barnes gave him a quick glance. “Oh, have we? Hmm, do you mean when you chewed me out the other day for, what was it now, ‘shooting my mouth off in front of Peggy’?” His lips twisted in a sneer on her name.

“Agent Carter can have you drummed out for saying less than half of what you just said, Bucky. Hell, I could too.”

“Yeah, yeah, loose lips sink ships, right?” Bucky looked between the two of them. “So that’s why you’re holed up in here in the middle of the day? Going over classified information, right? Like what sorta girdle the good Agent keeps her holster in, huh, Steve?”

Peggy’s fingernails bit into her palms, but she didn’t move so much as an eyelash. She’d heard worse, not that it made it okay.

Steve, on the other hand, was across the room in a heartbeat. He grabbed Bucky by the collar and hoisted him out of his seat. “Apologize,” he grit through his teeth, giving his friend a hard shake.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his whole body dropped limply in Steve’s hands. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry,” he said, all of the bravado gone from his voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Steve set him carefully back on his feet but left his hands where they were. His face looked carved from marble as he slowly shook his head. “Not to me. Apologize to the SSR liaison who keeps our asses out of the fire. Apologize to the woman who has given you in particular more chances than you deserve.” His voice was dangerously low. “Apologize to Agent Carter.”

He swallowed thickly, but Bucky turned his gaze from the thunderous expression on Steve’s face—no small feat, given how deadly he looked just now—to Peggy, who remained on the other side of the tent, watching this exchange intently. “Agent Carter, I’m sorry.” Steve clenched his hands a little tighter, shaking Bucky again ever so slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re a hell of an agent, which you obviously know. And I’m a shitheel.”

“Which I also already knew,” Peggy finished for him, her face carefully composed.

“It’s no excuse, though,” Steve interjected. “If you can be civil to everyone else here in the middle of a goddamn war, you better be civil to Peggy.”

Barnes nodded. “You’re right, Steve. I’ve been an ass.”

“For no damn reason.”

“For no damn reason,” Bucky parroted. He reached his hands up and gingerly set them on Steve’s, still grasping his collar. “I will do better.”

“Good.” Steve finally let him go, but the air in the tent remained thick with tension.

Peggy studied them both. “Steve, might I have a word with him alone?”

Bucky looked startled at the thought. Steve, on the other hand, remained grim. “You’re not going to shoot him, are you?” It was some part teasing, but not much.

“Don’t be ridiculous. But he and I need to come to some kind of understanding here. And I don’t believe your presence will facilitate that.” Peggy clasped her hands primly in front of her, nose in the air.

Steve gave Bucky another wary look. “I’m gonna go talk to Phillips about our next mission,” he said slowly. “Please do not kill each other before I get back.”

Barnes nodded quickly. Seeing Steve’s discomfort, Peggy put up a hand. “On my honor, Captain.”

He gave her a pained look on his way out the door, but he still went.

Bucky was beginning to look a bit pale, his forehead slightly clammy. “Sit down, Sergeant,” Peggy said.

He complied, staring at the floor in front of his boots. She took the chair from behind Steve’s desk and set it opposite him, then sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles.

After a moment, she said, “I’m not here to take him from you, Bucky.”

He flinched at that and did not raise his head.

“Do you disagree?” He held his tongue. Peggy sighed. “Please speak freely, just this once.” She took a breath. “I promise not to repeat a word you say to anyone. It’s clear you have a problem with my involvement with Steve, and there’s no way around it but to put the cards on the table. I will start: I do not want to take him from you. Whatever it is between us, I would never want Steve to abandon his dearest friend. I’m not the sort of woman to demand such a thing.”

Bucky scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “That’s not it,” he mumbled.

“Then what?”

Bucky gave a low chuckle and ran both hands through his sweat-damp hair. He shook his head again.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Peggy asked, concerned at his sudden pallor, the perspiration she saw dripping from his temple despite the cool fall day.

He tugged at his shirt collar and unbuttoned the next button down. “I run hot, now, when I get—if I feel. Um, beg pardon, Agent, it’s probably not something you want to hear.”

“You mean whatever Zola did to you?”

Bucky flinched again at his name and coughed once, then looked over to the tent’s doorway. He flicked his pale blue eyes back to her. “Yeah, whatever he did. You saw, back in Italy. I heal fast now, like Steve.” He paused, looked back down at his hands, trailed the fingers of one across the back of the other.

Peggy didn’t respond, just waited for him to continue. His color was returning, at least. He didn’t look quite so sick. She wondered if he’d spoken to anyone at all about this. This sudden cause for concern shook her, draining Peggy of the icy hot fury his words had stoked in her. The strain in her muscles left as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her feeling spent, wrung out.

“That’s not all.” He hunched down into his chair, elbows resting on his thighs, shoulders up around his ears. “I’m stronger. Not as strong as Steve, but stronger than I was. Stronger than I should be, running around Europe on army rations and not much sleep.”

“And you run hot, temperature-wise?”

“Not just temperature,” he murmured. “I get angry like I never used to.” Bucky looked up at her. “I know that might just be the war—all the guys are mad as hell, I know. But none of them had Zola messin’ in their heads. I can’t tell anymore what’s normal. I don’t know what’s happened to me.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know how to protect him when I’m like this.”

“Like you protected him before?”

Bucky nodded, blinking rapidly. “I get so—he needs me to watch his back, always has. Doesn’t matter that he’s as big as he always thought he was, doesn’t matter that a cold couldn’t catch him standing still any more. He still just charges in, damn the consequences. If I’m—what if I can’t—ugh,” Bucky cut himself off and raked a hand through his hair again.

Peggy felt a sharp twist in her stomach. “Well, for starters, you’ve got some more help watching his back these days.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “I hope you know that, at least. The other men—Dugan, Falsworth, Jones, all the rest—they’re looking out for him too, now. You should let others bear some of that weight.” She cleared her throat. “The symptoms, the effects you describe, those warrant observation, at least.”

Bucky looked up at her, gaze sharp. “I’m not going on medical leave, Carter, no one is going to—”

“Right,” she cut him off quickly. “No one will keep you from the job you have to do. But we have resources, Morita, Howard, people who can keep an eye out for anything truly concerning, without creating a paper trail. So you’re not dealing with this by yourself.”

Bucky looked wary, but ultimately he agreed. Peggy had to admire him, however begrudgingly, for his dedication. She wasn’t sure, in his shoes, if anyone would have been able to make her behave any differently. So many people had already lain down their lives for this cause. Who had any right to cry off now?

She was still thinking about Bucky’s predicament as she set off on her leave, hitching a ride into town in the backseat of a command Jeep. She hadn’t been able to reconnect with Steve after her debrief, so it seemed like she had a quiet few days to herself. Perhaps she would make the trip to visit her parents later in the week. For now, though, she was looking forward to sleeping on her own bed in her own little flat and making tea with her battered kettle, not jostling in line for what amounted to tepid water with a few limp, over-brewed leaves.

The place was a bit musty, and twilight was quickly falling as she put her bag down just inside the front door, throwing shadows across the spare little room. Peggy dug into her pockets for some coin to feed the meter, then set about filling her pot with water and setting it on the stovetop. It was time-consuming, but she always allowed herself the luxury of a hot bath when she was here in her little flat. After closing the curtains, she shed her jacket and removed her tie, unbuttoning her shirt down to the waistband of her skirt as she kicked off her shoes. She padded about the flat in stocking feet, the threadbare rugs her mother had sent down to her protecting her hose from snagging on the worn wood floors beneath. The jacket and tie went onto a hangar pulled from the cupboard, then she shimmied out of her skirt and clipped it up so it wouldn’t wrinkle. In her shirt, slip and stockings, she emptied and refilled the pot.

She simply refused to give up all of life’s little comforts. And, truth be told, her earlier conversation with Barnes had left her shaken and uncertain, for all she’d tried assure him things would be all right. Peggy slipped off her stiff shirt, then unpinned her hair without looking in the mirror, pacing back and forth across the room.

She couldn’t truly know that. Maybe, when all this was over, none of them would be all right.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.

She couldn’t remember which of the other girls had leave this week, but someone was always coming down the hall to borrow something. Peggy shut off the stove and cracked the door, expecting to see Johnson or Lorraine.

Instead, it was Steve, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking over his shoulder. Peggy panicked, grabbed his arm and yanked him inside before anyone could see. Then she hurried back over to the windows to make sure the curtains were firmly shut.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him, crossing back to check the hallway again through the peephole. Seeing no one, she was reasonably satisfied that he hadn’t been seen at her door. Men weren’t allowed in the rooming house, and any infraction would be reported back to her superiors.

He looked cowed and a little sheepish, standing with his shoulders hunched forward, hands deep in his pockets, head ducked as if anticipating a blow.

“I had to talk to you after what happened this afternoon,” Steve began, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry Bucky spoke to you that way, and I’m sorry I didn’t deal with his attitude earlier. I knew he’d been stewing on something, I didn’t realize what.”

By the time Steve had stammered out his apology, Peggy had grabbed her wrapper off the hook by the cupboard and tied it around herself with a hasty knot.

“Thank you, Steve, but you’re not responsible for his behavior.”

He shook his head. “All the same, I should have figured it out. Bucky ‘n me, we were one way back home, and now I’m out here and everything’s changed. In most ways, we’re the same as we ever were, but now when time comes for us to fight, it’s Bucky’s job to hang back and let me take the brunt of it. I don’t think he’s squared that in his head yet, he doesn’t know how to just let me fight.”

Peggy nodded. “He said something similar when we spoke privately.”

Steve pressed on, looking at the floor. “So he takes it out on you—which is wrong—because you’re the reminder of that. You were there when everything changed. And he knows the changes won’t stop after the war.” Steve gulped. “He knows that I have plans.”

Heat rushed through Peggy. They didn’t talk about the future, not in their letters or in the moments they were able to steal together. It was enough for her that she had him now, she told herself resolutely any time she caught herself longing for days after the war, entire days with him by her side. She knew all too well the odds of both of them making it out of this alive. There was just no sense wasting their precious little time on dreams.

Still, when Steve forced himself to look at her again, pink to the tips of his ears, clearly waiting for her response, all Peggy knew was the schoolgirl thrill coursing through her veins. Not knowing what to say, she kissed him instead.

She looped her arms around his neck and stood on tip-toe, needing the extra height out of her shoes. She’d never kissed him with her shoes off, she mused, as he curled his hands around her waist to pull her flush against his chest. If she had surprised him at all with her reaction, Steve didn’t show it. He simply met her kiss for kiss, as they fell back into the rhythm that had been interrupted that afternoon.

Steve kissed like he did most everything else: sure and thorough, finding just the right moments to advance and fall back, letting Peggy take the lead when she wanted to, but always at the ready with a new idea or creative solution to any problem, should one present itself.

Such as when, some time after they’d begun, Peggy’s neck began to ache, and the balls of her feet, as well. She bounced on her toes to relieve some of the strain, and tried to pull him down further. Steve, rather than fold himself up any more to reach her lips, hauled her up until they were roughly the same height, never breaking from their increasingly breathless kisses. Though he could hold her up quite well on his own, Peggy decided to assist by wrapping her legs around his slim hips and hooking her feet together behind his back, leaving his hands free to wander over the slick fabric of her wrapper once more.

Steve groaned into her mouth as she gently bit his lower lip, squeezing her thighs around him at the same time. “You know,” she said between fervent kisses, “I thought it was one of the other girls at the door.”

He pulled back. “Sorry to disappoint.” With one hand steadying her at her lower back, he reached up with the other to run a hand through her unruly curls. “I do appreciate the warm welcome, though.”

She surged forward to kiss him again, and started to undo his tie. “Forgive the mess, I only just got home myself.”

“What mess?” Steve joked, kissing her as she worked to unbutton his shirt. She leaned back in the circle of his arms to ruck his shirttails up, then pushed both his jacket and shirt off his shoulders. He laughed into her mouth as he realized she’d effectively pinned his arms to his sides. “I’m gonna have to put you down if you want these the rest of the way off.”

“The bed’s over there,” she replied, pointing behind him, a laughing smile on her own face.

“Copy,” he said, and started to walk backwards, leaning in to lavish more attention along the pale column of her neck.

When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, Steve turned and gently deposited Peggy on the mattress, shucking his shirt and jacket. He stood over her for a moment, clothes in his hands, a furrow between his brows. “What, uh,” he cleared his throat. “We don’t have to. Um.” He blushed again as Peggy gazed up at him, kiss-drunk, her bathrobe hanging open and chest heaving against her flimsy nylon slip.

He started again, “Listen, it’s been a long day for both of us—”

But Peggy surged up and tugged him down on top of her, growling at him between kisses, “If you think I’m going to waste this chance, Rogers, you’re daft.”

He gulped in response, nodding as she nipped at his shoulder, her hands teasing along his waistband. “If you’re sure.”

Something in his voice brought her up short. She stopped and pulled back to look him in the eye. “Are you not sure?”

He covered her hands with his, and she could feel them shaking. But he smiled at her as he replied, “I’m sure.”

Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and sweet, while Peggy took the lead, easing the wrap all the way off her shoulders before returning her attentions to Steve’s waistband. The chiseled muscles of his abdomen flexed against the backs of her hands, and she broke their kiss to admire him for a moment. He was every bit as impressive as the last time she’d seen him out of his shirt, only now she didn’t have to keep her hands from wandering.

Steve sensed where her thoughts had gone when she reached up to rest a hand on his chest, just where she’d touched him that day. He reached up to take her hand and brought it to his lips, smiling as she cupped his jaw and drew him back down. She laid back and he followed, leaning over her so he could take his turn touching where he pleased, the calluses on his fingers catching on the slick fabric of her slip as he trailed them down the valley between her breasts.

Her breath hitched as he slid his hand around her back, cupping her bottom as he pulled her against him and kissed her deeply. Peggy slid her leg over his, pressing even closer, raining desperate kisses against his face and neck as she felt herself falling headlong into this moment with him. Steve toyed with the hem of her slip for long minutes, tickling the backs of her thighs, stroking and caressing but never quite high enough, until she finally pushed him away. “Off,” she commanded, gesturing to his trousers before reaching down to pull up her slip.

He obeyed, then watched hungrily as she shed everything, down to her skin. While she reclined on the bed, Steve rushed to shuck his own skivies and socks. They regarded one another, flushed and breathless. For once, Peggy hesitated. This wasn’t a stolen moment in the command tent or on a mission. They were hurtling towards something bigger than either of them, an act that could forever change what was between them. She’d never before allowed herself to be caught up with someone she worked with, always guarding her reputation, her professionalism. Until Steve. Was the risk worth it, even to be with him?

He raked his gaze back up to her face. “Peggy,” he breathed, an odd sort of light in his eyes as he looked into hers. “This is your call. You decide what’s next.”

She considered him further, studying him, though the apprehension had already left her. He waited patiently, an open expression on his face. Of course, this was Steve. He’d follow wherever she led, and he was loyal to a fault. If there were reasons to doubt their relationship, none originated with him. “There’s a tin in the cupboard I should fetch.” As his brow furrowed, she shrugged and got up to retrieve the condoms, teasing as she went, “Unless Barnes felt badly enough to give you some of those extra rations he mentioned.”

“What?” Steve asked, momentarily lost. “Oh, no, he was talking about chocolate.”

Peggy laughed as she rummaged, and made her way quickly back to bed. She set the tin on the nightstand and sat down, reaching out so he would join her again on her narrow mattress. 

The fevered rush that had overtaken them both had dissipated, leaving them each a little shaken in its wake. Peggy saw with clear eyes this man as he took her in his arms, sober and reverent, tracing artless patterns up her arm and across her collarbone. When she kissed him this time, he cupped her face between his palms, eyes closed, moving his mouth slowly against hers as though discovering the words to a new prayer.

“Your call,” he murmured, and against her skin she felt the ghost of a smile on his lips. Peggy had no words just then, but she guided him, hands and lips and limbs, crafting a new ritual for them both. His eager diligence was more than a match for her prior experience. He was the pilgrim and she his icon. Steve had come to worship her, and as ever, he did nothing by half measures.


	14. but you will be with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky got up and approached the window. It looked out onto the back alleyway, though the view was largely obscured at the moment by a neighbor’s washing hung out to dry, now lightly dusted with snow. He leaned against the window casing and picked at the peeling paint on the sill. “You should stay away from me, Carter. I’m no good for anyone.”
> 
> Peggy sat back and regarded him. “While I agree with the first part, Barnes, you know I can’t. You and I have a deal.” A deal that had been his idea. To look out for one another, now that Steve was dead. A deal that Peggy wasn’t keeping her end of, if Bucky did this often. She didn’t know if that was the case, though. They saw each other twice a month. He’d been fine the last few visits. In fact, the last person to cry over Steve during one of their sessions had been Peggy.

January 1946, New York City

 

Bucky was drunk. Peggy could tell that from the first. She shut the door behind her and crossed to the decrepit armchair by the room’s single cracked window. She sat down and took her time taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Bucky stayed in his seat at the table, his eyes drooping. Now that he worked at the brewery, the beer smell was ever-present on him, but this went far beyond that.

Peggy pulled her coat tighter around herself against the chill seeping in. She studied him as she savored holding the acrid smoke in her lungs. She didn’t allow herself too many smoking breaks these days, not when she was taken to task for every minor infraction—real or imagined—while the male agents around her were scrutinized less and, on the whole, worse at their jobs. She bet she smoked fewer cigarettes now than she did when they’d been doled out as rations. Then again, her coworkers these days were rather disinclined to ask her to share a smoke, too.

“Whatchu doin’ here, Carter?”

Peggy took another drag. “You seem to have forgotten the day, James.”

“Shit,” Bucky groaned, letting his head hit the table. “Has it been a month already?”

“That’s how time works, yes. Put four whole weeks together and you get a month.” Unperturbed, she continued to smoke. There was no way Bucky could go to dinner at his mother’s in this state, so they had plenty of time now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing.

“Yes, well, I will be sorry to miss out on Mrs. Barnes’s pie.” Less sorry to have avoided the plainly hopeful looks Bucky’s mother would shoot between him and Peggy each month at dinner. The woman was clearly desperate to see her son settled, and Peggy had apparently passed muster as a potential mate. 

“Issss my fault,” Bucky slur-mumbled into the tabletop. 

“Yes, your getting drunk before dinner on a Friday afternoon is definitely your fault,” Peggy replied. 

“No, not that.” He picked his head up and squinted at her. “Well, that too. I meant Steve.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked back down at the table. “If it weren’t for me, he’d still be here.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. Maudlin drunk Barnes was perhaps her least favorite version. “You can’t know that.” She felt a twinge of sympathy, but reminded herself they’d had this conversation before, just after dinner the last time.

Bucky shrugged morosely, listing to one side. “I know it. I let him down. I killed him.”

“Not true,” Peggy said.

“Is true.”

“No.”

Bucky got up and approached the window. It looked out onto the back alleyway, though the view was largely obscured at the moment by a neighbor’s washing hung out to dry, now lightly dusted with snow. He leaned against the casing and picked at the peeling paint. “You should stay away from me, Carter. I’m no good for anyone.”

Peggy sat back and regarded him. “While I agree with the first part, Barnes, you know I can’t. You and I have a deal.” A deal that had been his idea. To look out for one another, now that Steve was dead. A deal that Peggy wasn’t keeping her end of, if Bucky did this often. She didn’t know if that was the case, though. They saw each other twice a month. He’d been fine the last few visits. In fact, the last person to cry over Steve during one of their encounters had been Peggy. 

Bucky shrugged and kept picking.

“All right then, no more of this.” Peggy stood up and dusted off her skirt. She handed Bucky the end of her cigarette. “Finish that while I run into the hall to phone your mother and let know you’re under the weather. When I come back, you’ll have made yourself presentable enough for the automat. Understood?”

He started to mutter under his breath.

“No part of this is optional, Barnes. You need sobering up. I’d be surprised if you’ve eaten anything at all today.” Peggy turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

 

“Jesus, you two look like hell,” Angie chirped as she poured them each a cup of coffee at their customary booth in the back of the L&L. “Rough day at the phone company, Peg?”

“Something like that, Angie,” Peggy muttered into her coffee.

“And you! Bucky Barnes, you look positively green around the gills. I hope you’re not comin’ down with something, mister.”

James could only muster a shrug in response, a far cry from his typically flirtatious interactions with their favorite waitress.

“O-kay then.” Blessedly, Angie seemed to pick up on the mood of her audience. “Well, you know the pie here’s good enough to cure whatever ails ya. Holler if you need something!” And she left them alone.

Peggy sighed and shook her head. “I’m getting us sandwiches. But you’re paying for the pie after, Barnes. It’s not half as good as your mother’s.”

He grumbled his assent and Peggy left him to stew in his inebriated misery while she surveyed the wall of dishes. Back before she joined the war effort, Peggy never would have guessed she’d find herself living in New York City, and she certainly would have laughed at the idea of sharing Friday evenings twice a month with a veteran who could hardly stand to be in the same room as her.

 

Many cups of coffee later and well into their dessert, Bucky seemed, if not in a better mood, at least to have mostly sobered up. Peggy took a deep breath.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” she said, keeping her eyes on her own cup. “Rather than drowning your feelings. You can tell me about it.”

Bucky, to her great surprise, started laughing. Peggy felt her cheeks flame.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she insisted. Still, he laughed. She hated the way her voice shook. “I miss him too, damnit,” she finally snapped.

That stopped him, she noticed with no small amount of satisfaction. He resumed stirring his coffee, clearing his throat.

“That wasn’t funny,” Peggy said, as primly as she could manage while the blood still heated her face and throat.

“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. “None of this is funny, Carter.” 

She glanced up to find he was looking directly at her for the first time since they’d arrived at the restaurant. His eyes were clear and focused on hers. She tipped her head, waiting.

He continued, “I shouldn’t have done that tonight, shouldn’t have made you clean up my mess.” He ran a hand through his hair, so badly in need of a trim the strands at his nape touched the collar of his shirt. “I went to visit my ma yesterday.” He looked down for a moment, and she noticed how the muscle in his jaw flexed. This was not easy for him, either. “I, uh, I wanted her to lay off all the hints.” He looked up again, a bit sheepish. “You know, about you an‘ me.”

Peggy smiled, just a little. “Thank you.”

“Well, she, uh, she explained why she thought we were gonna…” he trailed off, fiddling with his spoon again.

“What did she think?” Peggy prompted.

James shook himself a little, then squared his shoulders. “The army had shipped her my footlocker, after I was lost.” 

He dug a hand into his pocket, came back out with a small jeweler’s box. Peggy’s heart plummeted. “I’d been keeping this safe for Steve.”

She sat as far back as the padded booth would allow, feeling suddenly as if the entire room had fallen away from their table. Barnes turned the box around in his hands gently, with a kind of a reverence Peggy would never have expected from him.

He frowned a little as he opened the box, and ran a thumb over its contents before he turned it around so she could see.

“We looked for a long time, any time we were back in London,” he mused softly, while Peggy stared, dry-mouthed and cotton-headed, at the engagement ring he showed her. “He made me come with him, said I had better taste,” he chuckled and shook his head at that, “but I think he was just scared of choosing wrong.”

Numb, she watched as he reached out and set the box down in front of her. “He didn’t want to disappoint you, Peggy.”

“Oh,” was her soft reply. She reached out a shaking hand, not quite touching the ring, not yet. 

“He was worried you might want something flashier, but I told him not to be a dumbass.” James smiled, then, a real, soft smile; the likes of which Peggy hadn’t seen on his face in over a year, and never directed at her. “His ma didn’t leave him with a ring, so he didn’t have that option. But Steve had good instincts. He thought something like this would be easier on you for daily wear.”

Peggy reminded herself to breathe as she finally plucked the ring from the velvet it rested on. It wasn’t flashy, to be sure. She needn’t have worried too much about punching anyone while wearing it, as the setting was raised only the smallest amount. The band was yellow gold, but the top of the ring where the stone rested was white gold, worked into a starburst with shallow grooves that wouldn’t be a chore to keep clean. The stone, inset in the center of the design, was small but clear. 

“Oh,” she said again, “it’s perfect.” When she looked up, Bucky’s eyes looked watery, but that might have just been the tears in her own eyes.

Angie chose that moment to refill their coffees, and before either Peggy or Bucky knew what was happening, pandemonium broke loose.

“Oh my God!” Angie shouted, so excited by what she thought was happening that she sloshed hot coffee into the lap of another diner. 

 

It took some time for a mortified Peggy and Bucky to explain to the throng of waitresses, customers and one very incensed line cook that no, they weren’t engaged but yes, that was a ring and well, it’s a long story and.. 

If Bucky had still been at all drunk before that moment, the embarrassment of Chip the cook taking him to task in front of everyone assembled for not marrying Peggy served to sober him right up. Peggy’s attempts to explain their friendship fell on deaf ears, as far as Chip was concerned.

Angie was apologetic, at least. “Sorry kids, I’m just so damn excitable lately. I’m in the middle of auditions for a play, and I think the role’s gone to my head a bit. Let me get you both a fresh cup of coffee, on the house.”

Peggy felt like she’s had enough coffee—and Angie—for one day, thank you. And Bucky seemed more outwardly traumatized by the misunderstanding than anything he’d gone through either time he’d been a prisoner.

“Christ, Carter, where do they get off thinkin’ that about the two of us?” he asked her as they left, a dazed look on his face. His shoulders were hunched forward and his gait was a shuffling stagger rather than his usual confident stride.

Peggy shook out another cigarette and lit it, her hands still shaking. After a few drags, she finally trusted her voice enough to speak. “Did he tell you about Paris?” She didn’t look at him, wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Steve hadn’t told her Bucky had known of their plans, though of course, if he’d shared that with her during the war, it wouldn’t have rattled her this way. 

“Tell me about…?” 

“While you were searching for this ring, did he tell you we’d already come to an agreement? Because after you’d…” Peggy bit her lip.

“After the train?” He prompted.

She felt the tears welling up again, stinging her eyes. “There was a change in plan.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks and Peggy felt his hand at her elbow. He regarded her for a moment. “Okay, Carter, now it’s your turn to get soused.”

Peggy couldn’t argue with that. She let him lead her into the nearest bar. It was a dark dive of a place, but quiet. Bucky sat her in a booth near the back, then went to order. She took the ring out of her pocket and looked at it. It was beautiful. She would have loved to wear it, of course. But it wasn’t to be. That ship had sailed, even before Steve boarded the Valkyrie.

He returned with a double whisky for her, neat, and she tipped half of it down her throat before she could lose her nerve. It was time. She didn’t want to explain, but it came pouring out anyhow, a festering wound she’d finally lanced.

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks in the world to [ plumandfinch ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumandfinch/pseuds/plumandfinch) without whose fervent shouting I would not have written this damn fic. You're a swell pal, plum. I hope we continue shouting for quite a while yet. Likewise, [ doctorhelena ](https://doctorhelena.tumblr.com) has become a cheerleader and sounding board and sympathetic ear while I've struggled with this story in its later chapters, for which I cannot thank her enough!


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